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The dark tyranny of crickets

Long story, short. Me and a very small group of people spent years working on an animated show for the web.

Funny thing was, once we unveiled it, the reactions, were, well… odd.

We received a few kudos, but the typical reaction was either, a) silence or b) pure unadulterated hate.

It’s hard to tell which was more bizarre. Granted, it was a web show, financed out of our own pockets, but some people seemed to expect Pixar quality animation or something, which was well, kind of weird. Not too many people rip on a video shot on a webcam because it’s not on Hollywood 35mm.

But the general silence and lack of enthusiasm, from even friends and family ranging in age and demographics, is probably stranger. Many people didn’t even bother to give us a polite ‘congrats’ or patronized us with a mere ‘cool’. It’s hard to tell if they even watched it.

I don’t get it. The show doesn’t suck. It’s based on an original concept, yes, but it’s not like some abstract, experimental, avant guard production. Maybe not for everyone, but nothing offensive or inflammatory.

Honestly, it almost feels like people really need to be told what to like, and then it’s ok.

As an industry vet, does any of this sound familiar? I truly believe we have a good show with a great concept.

– Peck
NY, NY

First, let me offer you sympathy and commiseration. I’ve been there. I’ve killed myself writing things that were met with indifference. It sucks.

Over the years, my skin has gotten thick enough to handle most criticism, but there’s no way to prepare yourself for crickets. Creating something is like a pitching a ball. You expect someone to catch it. So when they stand there with their arms crossed, letting it roll on the grass, your frustration is justified.

But where do you focus it?

Do you blame yourself? If I’d just worked a little harder, they would have loved it.

Do you blame your friends? If they’d just been more enthusiastic, and forwarded it to their friends, it could have gone viral.

Do you blame the audience? They’re sheep who won’t embrace anything unless someone else tells them it’s cool.

If you’re like me, you probably cycle through all these blame targets repeatedly.

I don’t have any great advice for what to do with your web show. Switch mediums? Change a major element? Hope it becomes big in Japan? Maybe you made the next Hello Kitty, and just don’t realize it yet.

A few suggestions might point the way going forward on new projects:

1. Let yourself fall in love again. Once burned, you may be reluctant to fully commit to the next idea. Don’t be. Let yourself get obsessed and passionate. Caution rarely leads to awesome.

2. Given the choice, fail quickly. This animated project took years, so the emotional cost was very high. If you had been able to make a version of the idea faster, you would have learned whether it was likely to work.

3. Preselect your superfans. I have a few people who tend to like everything I do. And while I value their insights, I mostly value their praise. Yes Men are fine as long as they’re not the only voices you hear.

4. Plan your launch as carefully as you plan everything else. As I’ve written about with the struggles of indie films, you have to think about the end of the project right at inception.

Keep in mind, you could take every word of this advice and still face crickets. That’s simply the risk of trying anything creative.

Three directors, no money for rent

I have a good problem. Three of my scripts have found directors in the last two weeks, after about 18 months of development. But! I just lost my day job and my bank account is in dire straits.

Each director has given me comprehensive notes, enough to keep me working overtime if writing was my sole moneymaker. I want to show them what a quick, clean worker I am, but I also have to pay my bills, and eat. What the hell do I do?

– Ben
NYC

Most screenwriters are broke at some point. Better it happens at the start of your career than the end.

I had a gap between my last “real” job and my first paid screenwriting assignment. I watched what little money I had dribble away. I made a spreadsheet budget and figured I could make it two months. My mom helped pay my rent, and I made it five months until the first check came. During that time, I wasn’t going out a lot.

Cut your expenses as low as you can. Don’t buy Starbucks. Cook cheap things you can eat for a week. And cancel your cable — you’ll be too busy working to watch.

Desperation can be productive. You have a lot of incentive to work your ass off.

Don’t get evicted or ruin your credit. You probably have someone in your life who can loan you some money to see you through this stretch. Maybe it’s a parent. Maybe it’s a friend. So ask. Be honest about the good things that are happening, and the bad things.

How cool are the directors/producers you’re working with? If there’s one you really click with — and who doesn’t seem to be down to his last twenty — be candid about your situation and see if he’ll advance you some money. A director can’t get your best work if you’re fighting to stay afloat.

There’s no romance in being broke, and no shame either. Be smart and work through it.

WTF is a beat sheet?

First, thanks for telling me to buy a new car. (I did.) Second, what the frak is a beat sheet?

I’ve taken screenwriting, short-story writing, and novel writing classes. I’ve taken filmmaking classes. I’ve read several writing manuals. Writers and professors all love to talk about the importance of beat sheets. While they are apparently the single most important thing a writer can ever do, they never show examples. And I’ve heard multiple definitions, from a one-sentence description of each scene to a detailed breakdown of every action in the script.

I’m beginning to suspect conspiracy. I don’t think anybody really uses beat sheets. They claim to in order to sound responsible, much like the myth of flossing. Can you post an example of a beat sheet and blow this mystery out of the water?

– Nick T.

Beat sheets are a form of outline. Each major plot point gets its own bullet point (or occasionally, a number). That’s it.

They can be a helpful way of discussing the storyline of a movie.

In the Library, you can see a minimal beat sheet that Jordan Mechner and I did for our never-shot pilot Ops. It includes a column showing which characters are in any given scene, and which one of us was going to write it.

For the first Charlie’s Angels, I did a series of beat sheets as we debated and formulated. This one shows a pretty close approximation of what I ended up writing for the first draft. Numbering the beats ended up being a huge help for conference calls.

(Trivia: You’ll notice there’s a villain character named “Lucy Liu,” which far predates the actual Lucy Liu being involved with the movie. That villain character was ultimately played by Kelly Lynch, while Lucy was later cast as the third angel.)

Note that beat sheets are also commonly written after there is a draft of a screenplay. I’ve asked my assistants to do a beat sheet of a script I’m about to begin rewriting so that I’ll have a roadmap of how things are arranged.

La historia es gratis

Ivan Morales ha traducido mi post Story is Free, si quieren leerlo en español.

Do novelists get more for successful adaptations?

When a novel is adapted into a film or television series, how does compensation to the writer of the original novel work?

Does a studio pay the writer in one lump sum and then is allowed to do whatever they want with the property? Or does the original writer still benefit in some form if the adapted film or series is successful? For example, in the case of the television show Dexter, does Jeff Lindsay receive any extra compensation because the show has lasted as long as it has? Or was he paid only once, and then the success of the series makes no impact on his checkbook?

– Corey

I don’t know the specific deal with Dexter. But as a general case, yes, both scenarios are possible.

The studio (or producers) might pay a lump sum for all theatrical and/or television rights, generally structured as an option agreement. (Some money now for an exclusive hold on the rights, more money later if we decide to make it.)

Particularly in the case of a best-selling novel, the writer’s deal could include some form of backend. For a television series, that would likely be a specific amount per episode produced, along with a piece of the show’s profits. For feature films, it could be anything from a percentage of net profits (which almost never actually occur) to staggered bonuses at certain thresholds of domestic or worldwide box office.

Studios often buy books as manuscripts before they’re published. (That was the case with Big Fish.) In that situation, there may be language in the contract stipulating additional fees if the book enters the New York Times bestseller list, or some other event after publication.

For a novelist, a successful film or television adaptation should result in more sales of her book, and that money is all hers. The studio doesn’t get any portion of Stephenie Meyer’s publishing money for the Twilight series, nor Lindsay’s for Dexter.

Denialism, and Toy Story 3

Many of my favorite people hold opinions I don’t. They enjoy things I find annoying, and support positions I find misguided.

That’s good. Part of being a grown-up is accepting that others don’t have to share your tastes and beliefs, just as you don’t have to embrace theirs. Surrounding yourself with only like-minded people is narcissism by proxy.

When you zoom out to society as a whole, you want a healthy mix of opinions to generate discussion. Yes, you get a few blowhards and demagogues, but they often foster enjoyable debate. Culture is the result of a never-ending game, and you want good players.

But do you know who’s no help at all? Denialists.

“Denialist” is a term often linked with Holocaust or climate change skeptics, but in a general sense applies to anyone incapable of rational discussion on a given topic. You can’t debate them. Not really.

With topics that can be argued from objective facts, you can ultimately feel pretty secure calling a denialist wrong. But what if you’re talking about a subjective experience, like art or literature or movies?

What if you’re talking about Toy Story 3?

Toy Story 3 is so besotted with brand names and product-placement that it stops being about the innocent pleasures of imagination–the usefulness of toys–and strictly celebrates consumerism.

In his widely-panned review of the widely-adored Toy Story 3, Armond White seems to have segued from film critic to film denialist. “Contrarian” feels too small, too polite — he’s not just paddling in the opposite direction of most critics, he’s climbed out of the boat and started grabbing fish with his bare hands.

Criticizing Toy Story 3 for celebrating consumerism is so non-sensical as to be objectively wrong.

Or maybe we’ve all been duped:

[Toy Story 3 is] essentially a bored game that only the brainwashed will buy into. Besides, Transformers 2 already explored the same plot to greater thrill and opulence.

Oy.

Paul Brunick does a point-by-point dissection of the Toy Story 3 review, revealing its many factual inaccuracies. Never mind what movie is being projected on screen — White is here to catalog how it falls short of his ideals:

What makes Armond’s reviews perversely fascinating is that he is so obviously intelligent, yet this intelligence has been harnessed to the warped imperatives of an increasingly frustrated personality. Where your average critical hack job is just banal, White’s ability to disconnect the dots exerts a kind of bizarro brilliance. Try to take any of his recent reviews as seriously as he insists and you’ll find yourself, like Alice and the Red Queen, running in hermeneutic circles, getting nowhere fast. It makes for mediocre criticism but lurid psychodrama.

Don’t feed the trolls

Since you can’t debate a denialist, shouldn’t you just ignore them?

In forums and message boards, yes. On their own blogs, sure. But when a denialist has a platform that otherwise feels legitimate, are you doing society a disservice by letting the counterfactual opinion sit there uncontested?

Take evolution, per my example above. By attempting to engage with denialists, defenders of science paradoxically lend their opponents legitimacy — particularly if they can portray themselves as persecuted. “Teach the controversy” starts to sound like a reasonable middle ground, drawing in otherwise-reasonable people who want to be perceived as wise and fair.

I don’t have a good answer. I haven’t devised a formula for figuring out when to just ignore it. And thus I spend a few hundred words on a terrible review of an excellent movie.

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