You’d love to see a bigger sample, and correlation does not imply causation. But to me, it suggests that increased sampling usually generates more sales than it costs.

Advance screenings of movies work the same way. When a studio expects good word of mouth, they are often willing to give up a day’s box office¹ in order to get more people talking about their movie. They’ll also conduct word-of-mouth screenings tailored to specific audiences. “Free” and “exclusive” are big motivators.

(thanks Howard Rodman)

1. When you buy a ticket for a sneak preview of The Proposal, it’s actually counted towards another film, generally one from the same studio currently playing at that theater.

The movie was written by Linda Woolverton. I never read the script, and haven’t seen a frame beyond the trailers and commercials. I’ll get to see the film for the first time on Monday, and really look forward to it.

With that clarification out of the way, let me explain a strange fact of my career: I’ve not written Alice in Wonderland three times. It’s a recurring motif.

1995

The story that became Go was originally envisioned as a retelling of Alice, substituting the underground rave scene for Wonderland. As it developed, I pretty thoroughly scotched those ambitions, but you can still see vestigial elements in the first section of the film:

• Ronna, like Alice, charges boldly into unknown territory, and proves unexpectedly brave in the face of strange events.
• She visits a smoking psychedelicist who talks in riddles but ultimately helps her.
• Poorly labeled drugs are consumed with unanticipated consequences.
• A talking (telepathic) cat offers advice.

Other than the cat, these are all extremely tenuous connections. I would never claim that Go is remotely an adaptation of Alice. Rather, I had Alice bumping around in my head during Go’s genesis, and some Alice DNA worked its way into the genotype. For example, the yellow Miata was for a long time a white Volkwagen Rabbit.

2000

Shortly after the release of Go, producer Paul Rosenberg brought me to E3 to introduce me to American McGee, who was working on a videogame adaptation of Alice. The world he had come up with was dark and spectacular. American and I hit it off so well that two hours later we were pitching a movie version to director Wes Craven.

Craven said yes, and Miramax bought it the next day. They wanted the movie out within a year.

But I was already committed to writing three other projects. So we reached a compromise: rather than writing the script, I would write a detailed treatment laying out the characters, story and world. So I did. The document was 21 single-spaced pages. American McGee liked it, as did the producers. Wes Craven didn’t. And thus began a series of writers and re-imaginings that as far as I know may continue to this day. It’s been in turnaround several times.

I left the project having a friendly relationship with American McGee, who later introduced me to fellow game designer Jordan Mechner. Which begat the movie version of Prince of Persia and several other collaborations.

2007

While standing in the registration line for the Sundance Film Festival, where The Nines was about to premiere, I got a call asking if I would be interested in writing an adaptation of Alice in Wonderland for director Sam Mendes at Dreamworks. I said yes as I was trying on my official Sundance parka.

I met with Sam in New York and pitched my take, which blended a lot of Lewis Carroll’s biography into the story. As before, I was backed up on other projects (including the release of The Nines), so it would be six months before I could get started. I got about 40 pages written before the WGA strike began, at which point I had to stop working.

During the strike, Disney’s Woolverton-scripted Alice roared to life when Tim Burton signed on to direct it. I’d always been aware of it as a potentially-competing project, but now my Alice would be going up against the guy who had directed my last three films. It didn’t matter that our takes were wildly different; the world didn’t need or want two pricey Alice in Wonderland movies.

The day the strike ended, I called Sam Mendes, the studio, the producer, and my agent. Tim Burton’s movie was already in preproduction. It was pointless for me to keep writing something that couldn’t and shouldn’t get made. After a few days of discussion, we reached an agreement. I wrote a check back to Dreamworks and the project was killed.

This adaption of Alice was the closest of any of mine to becoming real. I love what I wrote, so it’s disappointing and frustrating that it won’t end up on screen. But that reality is a big part of any working screenwriter’s life. Much more important than this half-written movie was maintaining relationships with studios and filmmakers I hope to keep working with for the next few decades.

I left Alice to write a different movie for Sam Mendes and two more projects for Tim Burton. So, as before, my failed Alice had a curious number of upsides.

2025

Considering it’s been 15 years to this point, I suspect it may be another 15 before I finally write an Alice in Wonderland. That’s okay. Writers aren’t Olympic athletes; we can have very long careers.

Whatever the future looks like, Alice in Wonderland will still be relevant. Depending on your approach, the story can be silly, scary, ominous or charming. Is it a dark parable of computerized dystopia? Sure. Candy-colored comedy of manners? Perfect.

Alice has become one of our fundamental myths, an ur-story that thrives through perpetual reinvention. I’m looking forward to seeing this year’s Alice, and all the ones thereafter.

My question is, when sending queries should I mention that this title was previously optioned? I don’t know how a production company or agent/manager might view this. Would it be a good thing because someone else thought the script had potential or a bad thing because they weren’t able to sell it?

– Mark Violi
New Jersey

You have two different audiences.

For agents and managers, absolutely mention that it had been optioned. Anything which shows that producers are interested in your work makes you more attractive as a potential client.

Producers and production companies aren’t necessarily going to be excited that someone else had the project before them. Yes, it validates their taste a bit, but they may worry that the script has already been burned out around town. If everyone has read it and passed, what are they going to do with it, exactly?

If someone asks, always be honest about the project’s history. But you don’t have to lead with that information.

Also, it’s legit (and common practice) to make a few changes to a script and put a new date on the cover. If you’re trying to shop a script that says 2007 on the title page, there will be natural questions about why it’s so old.

I’m doing very well with school but I feel I’m not getting anywhere in the process. I mean, the way school is going I’m not going to graduate until I’m around 25 – 26 years of age which is just absurd especially since I’ve been in school already for a year & a half. I may not even finish my online schooling because it’s a bit pricey for the cost per class. I’m also not able to truly associate or really affiliate with anyone through the online program. Online schooling is just not good in that matter since everything is through a message board. You’re also not able to get hands on with anything. I’ve even looked on transferring but the situation is just not presenting itself well.

I’ve talked to a few people and even read some things on if schooling is needed for this industry and some say yes and others say no. It’s a guessing game from where I’m standing.

I’ve even looked around on ways to get noticed or recognized as many have said film festivals, film schools and so forth but that’s nothing new and I didn’t already know. But in order to enter a film festival, I need a film and that takes a lot of money to get a film made and I just don’t have the resources either. I’m really just looking for answers on what do and how I can get my foot through the door but then again, I’m still looking for a door.

I can’t just up & move to California even though I do plan on going out there sometime down-the-line (when? Who knows at this time) but I wouldn’t know where to begin or let alone look, on how to get some kind of acknowledgment or advice. My folks and I are just trying to find some answers for me or a path of some sorts. It’s just becoming frustrating. My folks are questioning on what to do as it’s a dead end on every corner and opportunities are just not coming about.

I hope that maybe you could provide some answers or something.

– Scott
Florida

I think online classes are a great option for many topics, but basic filmmaking isn’t one of them. Drop out and save your money.

Yes: a class that was purely about screenwriting could be taught online, but almost every other part of filmmaking is physical and collaborative. You need to be setting up lights and comparing angles and figuring out why the sound isn’t recording right. An online session might offer a master class with Robert Elswit talking about composition. It would be fascinating. But it wouldn’t be the practical information you need right now as an aspiring filmmaker.

Make short films. Find little movies that are shooting in Florida and work on them for free. Take local classes in the things that interest you.

You’re 22 — you don’t have to have your whole life figured out. But you owe it to yourself to pursue every interesting thing with every bit of energy you have. And if you still find filmmaking is your number one passion, move to a place where they make movies. That’s Los Angeles, New York, and (recently, thanks to tax credits) Louisiana. Get yourself there and get hired on a movie. You’ll learn more your first week as a PA than you have so far in your online classes.

Read what Adam Davis wrote about his experience moving to LA to get started. It’s not easy, but it’s not overwhelming either. Every young actor you’ve seen on TV has moved to Los Angeles, and trust me, many of them aren’t that smart or confident.

Your parents are nervous because they don’t see a clear path ahead for you. My mom was the same way. But once I was here, working 16-hour days on a hundred different things, she could at least see that I’d found something that really engaged me. I was making things, even if I wasn’t making enough money to buy a bed.

It’s okay to struggle. It’s okay to have doubts. But don’t let them paralyze you. You don’t have much, but you have your youth. There are many folks reading this blog in their thirties or forties with a marriage and mortgage who don’t have options you have. Embrace your freedom and explore.

I could understand if I use a work computer, but does that mean even when I’m at home? Should writers not take assistant jobs at studios?

– Chris
Sherman Oaks, CA

Screenwriters have always been assistants, because studios are a great place to learn about the realities of the industry. And in the fifteen years I’ve been working, I’ve never heard of a situation where the studio claimed legal right to a screenplay an assistant had written.

Not saying it’s impossible, but it doesn’t happen as a matter of standard practice.

You’re right to use your own computer and your own time — and that would hold true even if you worked at a Chevy dealer. If the studio has you sign a document establishing that anything you write belongs to them, well, take that seriously. Consider looking for a different job.

In most cases, what’s more important than the legalities are the formalities. If you’ve written some scripts and are in the process of looking for an agent or manager, it’s custom to talk about it with your boss and let her read something if she asks to. Don’t use her contacts as your contacts; your networking should be with other assistants.

You’re looking to preserve a relationship, both with your boss and the studio. Be respectful, even deferential, and you’re unlikely to run into any problems.

The deal makes sense for Warners. Most DVDs are sold in the first month after release, so if they can turn rentals into sales, they come out ahead.

The deal makes sense for Netflix, too. They’re lowering one of their primary costs and getting more content for their Watch Instantly service. To their credit, they understand that the business of mailing DVDs will end. The future is streaming, and they’re increasingly well-positioned.

If you’re a Netflix subscriber who mostly watches new releases, this deal sucks.

Netflix will probably lose some customers in the near term, particularly as other studios cut similar deals. But they may gain more customers with a better streaming library. Netflix has a strange relationship with subscribers: they want to keep them happy but not too happy, since shipping each disc costs real money. My hunch is that the company has crunched the numbers and discovered that the folks who mostly rent new releases end up costing more to support.

If you’re a writer with a movie on home video, this is probably a good deal. You make residuals on DVD sales and streaming, not subscription rentals.

When Netflix ships a disc of Corpse Bride, I get nothing. When Netflix ships those bits over the internet, Warners gets paid, and I get a few cents. That’s good.

I’m currently on my third (Frankenweenie), and while the words on the page are the same as any other feature, the process is completely different. And frustrating, honestly, until you get used to it. Rob’s post walks newcomers through some of the biggest hurdles.

(Thanks to Barrett for the link.)

Earlier this year, a blogger going by the name Carson Reeves began reviewing screenplays on a site called ScriptShadow. These aren’t scripts for existing movies, but rather screenplays to upcoming films — ones in production, ones in development, ones in limbo.

A recent Wired magazine article by Scott Brown discusses his intentions:

[Reeves] says he wanted to celebrate the writer, promote talented unknowns (aren’t most screenwriters pretty much unknowns?), and acquaint newbie scribes with the art of the craft. “I’ve had so many emails from writers all over the world thanking me for making Hollywood feel closer and less intimidating,” he says. “It’s particularly appealing to amateur screenwriters who want to know what’s selling. You have to realize that this is information they’ve wanted for years but just didn’t have access to.”

That’s not really the case. Aspiring screenwriters have always had access to this material the same way Reeves apparently got access to it: by working and interning in the industry.

In between answering phones and trying to get their bosses on flights out of Kennedy, bright underpaid aspirants have the opportunity to read almost every script in town. Impromptu networks of assistants pass around their favorite screenplays, in the process picking the next generation of hot writers.

Studios turn a blind eye to this because it helps the industry. You want the smartest people with the best opinions working for you, and you want them to have a good sense of what’s in development all over town. A boss at Disney isn’t going to lose sleep if an intern at CAA reads a draft of that Miley Cyrus comedy. It’s expected. It’s good.

So ScriptShadow should be a good thing, right? More is better.

It’s not. And the reasons become clear pretty quickly.

There’s a big difference between reading a script and reviewing it online for the world to see. Not only are you spoiling plot details, but you’re establishing a baseline judgment for a project that’s often still in its fetal phase.

Brown’s article is alarmingly upbeat on this point:

Scriptshadow is the logical next step in our increasingly impatient attitude toward the delivery of entertainment. We’ve seen the sun set on the medieval Age of Professional Reviews, the rise of the populist recap, and the boom of real-time in-theater Twitter. The precap, however, trumps them all. It’s the kind of access Tinsel-trolls like me have been jonesing for since the ’90s, when Ain’t It Cool News hooked us with preemptive trashings of preview screenings.¹

And here’s the rub: just like the AICN reviews of screenings made studios much more reluctant to test their films, sites like ScriptShadow are making them clamp down much harder on the heretofore common practice of passing scripts around.

This isn’t theoretical. It’s happening now.

Ruining it for writers

Earlier this year, I worked on a rewrite of a potential tent-pole movie in development at Fox. A week into my writing, ScriptShadow posted a review (since removed) of an earlier draft of the same project. It was largely laudatory, but the studio went ballistic. I don’t know what pressure they put on ScriptShadow to get the review taken down, but I was suddenly given extraordinary restrictions on exactly who could read the script. I couldn’t send it to the director, the producers or anyone other than one executive at the studio. These were by far the most restrictive terms of any film I’ve written at any studio.

Keep in mind, this wasn’t X-Men or Avatar. It was one of two dozen movies that could maybe someday get greenlit. Fox legal was willing to go to war over a movie it might not even make.

The more often sites like ScriptShadow poke that hornet’s nest, the bigger the reaction is going to be. The revised terms — I couldn’t even send the draft to my agent — may become the norm. Assistants will get fired for sharing scripts. In the long run, it will be crippling for the industry, and screenwriters will suffer most:

• Screenwriters get hired based on the last few things we wrote, and if those are sealed in vaults, we’re screwed. I got my second writing assignment (A Wrinkle in Time) based on the script to my first assignment, a project that was still in active development. If that script had been locked down, I might not have gotten another job.

• If I can’t get feedback from trusted readers about the script I’m writing, it won’t be as good. Period.

• Pretty soon, blame for one of these “leaks” is going to be aimed back at the actual writer, and how would she defend herself? If I leave my iPhone or laptop unattended for sixty seconds, it would be nothing for someone to send himself one the drafts I’ve emailed to myself as backup.

I don’t want to have to write in a Fox office, on a Fox computer. But that could very easily be the future.

A better tomorrow

Several screenwriter friends have emailed Reeves, asking him to take down reviews of their scripts. Every time, he has. So I believe Reeves when he says he wants to help writers. Here are two ways he can do it:

1. Review scripts of movies once they’ve come out. Most of the scripts aiming for awards this season have freely-available .pdfs, and Reeves’ own contacts should enable him to get ahold of the ones that aren’t. Shining a spotlight on the scripts and their screenwriters would genuinely help readers see how the words on the page were translated to the screen.

2. Ask writers before posting a review. No doubt some screenwriters benefit from getting their spec scripts mentioned, just as the Black List has helped draw attention to worthy writers. As long as Reeves checks in with the writer first — making sure that a review wouldn’t derail a deal in the works — everyone benefits.

Other sites publish script reviews. The reason I’m singling out ScriptShadow is that its owner genuinely seems to have some sense of responsibility to its readers and the screenwriting community. Hell, it uses Scrippets, so it can’t be all evil.

I’m hoping that by setting the bar higher, ScriptShadow can stop hurting the screenwriters it claims to celebrate.

1. More than impatience, I think it speaks to a culture of entitlement: “It’s not fair I have to wait until a movie is out to know what happens.” Or, “It’s not fair that only Hollywood people get to read these scripts.” Guess what? It is fair. Fair doesn’t mean you get whatever you want.

But since I was name-checked twice in this interview from Wharton School of Business, I feel some responsibility to point out a few fallacies and follies.

When the Writers Guild of America went on strike in 2007, it looked as if Hollywood’s balance of power favoring big, money-hungry studios would never be the same again. To some extent, that’s the case, but not necessarily in the way the striking screenwriters expected. The growing popularity of free, web-based writing software — available to anyone, anywhere — is breaking down the barriers to entry of the screenwriting profession as never before, says Sunil Rajaraman, co-founder, president and CEO of Scripped.com. As he tells it, the urgent mission for his California-based screenwriting software startup couldn’t be clearer, yet more daunting: Change Hollywood.

I met with Sunil and his partner Zak Freer (a Starkie) in 2007 when they were coming up with their concept for Scripped. I gave them a few suggestions and wished them luck.

In particular, I hoped they could fulfill the international aspect to their mission:

We combine cloud computing and web-based software to provide free access to Scripped.com to aspiring writers worldwide, to find the next John August. He or she might be in Thailand, China or India — not necessarily in Los Angeles, which is the way the film industry has traditionally thought about sourcing this kind of talent.

Their site is up and running. I haven’t really checked in with it for the past two years. But it annoys me to see Rajaraman recycle this Hollywood urban legend as proof his software is needed.

Two problems are solved with web-based screenwriting software. The first is collaboration. Many of the scripts of the films we see in movie theaters have undergone dozens of rewrites before they make it to the screen. For example, for the original of Good Will Hunting, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck put the screenplay together with more anecdotal stories about South Boston and friends they grew up with. Characters were eliminated from the screenplay and it underwent a very detailed rewriting process. Who knows how many writers had their hands on that screenplay before it was made — and it eventually won an Oscar.

So, wait: does the untrue story about rewriters on Good Will Hunting mean your collaboration software is good thing, or a bad thing? Rajaraman is taking one of the few actual advantages of of web-based screenwriting software — real-time multiple users on an open document — and making it sound unsavory.

The second problem online software solves is access to writers. If you give the software away for free — it is very cheap to provide the software — you can attract all sorts of talent that would have otherwise not been interested in screenwriting.

There are many free or low-cost options for screenwriting software, including the basic word processors everyone already has on their computers. I wrote Go in Microsoft Word. Screenwriting software is useful, but hardly necessary.

For that matter, both of the flagship applications cost less than $200. When the price of an iPod will buy you all the software you need, that’s a very low barrier to entry.

The Writers Guild West consists of about 15,000 writers, a very small group. The average price in Hollywood for a feature-length script from an accomplished writer is US$250,000. These writers have to protect the system, and the system exists to provide for them. Because Scripped aggregates talent worldwide and brings new content to producers, it is a threat to the way business is currently done.

WGAw membership is closer to 8,000. I don’t know where Rajaraman is pulling the $250,000 figure, but he’s committing the classic mistake of confusing a script sale with a career. In 2007, median earnings for a WGA writer were $104,857.

Hollywood pays roughly US$1.2 billion a year for feature-length scripts. So point one, producers are not necessarily getting the most talented writers to write those scripts. And, two, they are overpaying for those scripts. We aim to democratize the process, cut the cost and increase the talent pool of writers who have access to the Hollywood studio system and elsewhere.

I emailed Rajaraman to ask about the $1.2 billion, but I think he’s off by at least a zero.¹ Regardless, I can’t fathom how that proves producers are overpaying for less-talented writers.

I don’t know that there’s a viable business model for Scripped. I still wish them luck; I’m not rooting against them by any means. But they do themselves a disservice by misrepresenting the facts behind the motion picture industry and the career of screenwriting.

Through my work with the Sundance Screenwriting Labs, I’ve experienced that the best way to extend the craft of screenwriting to other countries is through example and outreach. The Labs does it with in-country sister programs. I do it with this site, trying to make sure my articles acknowledge the wider world beyond the 30-mile zone.

But I’m also very leery of trying to promote screenwriting as a career separate from the greater film industry. The reason most screenwriters live in Los Angeles is because this is where Hollywood movies are developed, financed and produced. Software doesn’t change that.

1. Update: Rajaraman says he’s basing that on $30 billion in worldwide film production costs, with 3% to 5% going to the writer. He will try to get the article updated. It still doesn’t help make his point.

The survey takes five minutes, and will help set priorities for the Guild.

I was one of the beta testers for the survey, helping revise some of the questions about economic conditions and industry practices. It’s your choice whether to include your name or do it anonymously, but please participate. It’s important to let the Guild get a sense of what’s changing for screenwriters.

Generally, it’s much easier to get feedback from television writers — you can visit a show’s writers’ room and ask. Since screenwriters tend to work alone, each writer might think her situation is unique, when it’s actually become common.

This survey will help put numbers to hunches.

1. Each email has a unique link to the survey, to ensure that the participants really are WGAw members.

This will be the first time someone is acknowledging me as a writer rather than as an assistant (my boss is kind enough to let me take off work for the meeting). Do you have any advice for how one should conduct oneself in such a meeting? They’ve already passed on picking up the pilot, and staffing season hasn’t started yet, so it appears that this is just a “get to know you” meeting. Should I prepare pitches for alternate projects? Do I dress casual or professional? What should I do as far as follow-up goes?

– James

I have much more extensive answers to your questions in two previous posts, How to Meet and What to do in a general meeting. But for newcomers, I can offer a bit of a summary.

Your goal in a general meeting is to figure out what they might be able to hire you to write — if not now, then at some point in the future. They want to put a face with the name with the words they’ve read.

At a certain point, they’ll talk about the kinds of projects they have in development, and the things they’re looking for. If anything sparks, pursue it. Talk about it in the room, then follow up the next day, and the next week. You’ll be chasing a lot of half-baked projects, most of which will never come to be. But one or two might. And that’s what you need.

Your advantage at this point is that you’re cheap and available. A producer could likely hire you with discretionary funds to rewrite a mediocre project she has sitting on the shelf. A show might bring you on at the lowest level of staff writer. And if that opportunity comes up, take it. Do an amazing job, then let that momentum carry you into your next assignment. And your next.

You don’t have to put on a suit. In fact, it’s better to be the worst-dressed person in the room.

My overall advice is to not freak out over any given meeting. Pretend it’s just having coffee with somebody who went to your same school. Unless you’re pitching a specific project, don’t approach it with any particular expectation — simply enthusiasm — and it’s likely to go fine.