Most movie pitches don’t involve video, but with PoP, most of the studio executives weren’t familiar with the game at all, so it became an important way to introduce them to both the franchise and the world. As Jordan notes in his post, this trailer doesn’t really tell the story of the movie, but it does give a sense of the characters and style: the dashing prince’s acrobatics, the devoted priestess/princess, the dagger with its time-reversing slickness.

Jordan and I pitched seven studios over two days. Each time, the presentation was pretty much identical.

1. Introductions. Apologies for keeping us waiting. (1 minute)
2. John hyping Jordan’s prestigious videogame background. (1:00)
3. Play the video. (2:10)
4. Jordan describes the world of the Persian empire, using artwork. (:30)
5. John pitches Prince Dastan, using artwork of him. (:30)
6. John and Jordan alternate pitching story, introducing character/prop artwork as new things come up. (6:00)
7. Questions about story, tone and scale. “Somewhere between Pirates and Raiders. It’s not Lawrence of Arabia.”(3:00)
8. Promises that they’ll follow up. (1:00)

Altogether, we could get through the pitch in less than 20 minutes. Disney liked it, and sent us to Jerry Bruckheimer’s company, who bought it from Jordan. The film comes out next May.

Here’s the trailer we used for the pitch. The actual trailer for the movie is ridiculously good, and should be out before too long.

Prince of Persia movie pitch trailer (2003) from jordan mechner on Vimeo.

Pagasa may be a 75-acre speck of sand and rock, but that hasn’t stopped a swarm of countries from battling over the hundreds of specks of sand and rock that make up the Spratlys, which may be the most disputed island chain on Earth.

So, in 2002, the Philippines decided to establish a small colony of hardy civilian settlers on the island, augmenting the two dozen military workers who earn special “loneliness pay” to live on the far-off spot — and bolstering its claim that possession is nine-tenths of the law.

The result is sort of “Cast Away” meets Plymouth Rock.

It’s worth reading John Glionna’s entire article, because it’s quickly clear that Cast Away is only one of many different kinds of movies you could set on the island.

Here are some elements I found compelling:

• Isolated, together. The “volunteers” are far from home, but never alone. In fact, the island is so tiny you can’t get away from someone.

• Primitive and modern. Despite the airstrip, most of their food comes from fishing. A bad typhoon can destroy them. Yet they keep blogs.

• An international dispute over an unimportant piece of dirt. Is it really the airstrip the Philippines wants to protect, or its ego?

What is a Pagasa movie?

Is it a thriller? Most thrillers rely on something to isolate the protagonist, either literally (Panic Room) or figuratively (The Bourne Identity). Islands work well for this. In 2002, I pitched a version of Alien v. Predator set on an island in Maine during a massive storm; Pagasa could work similarly.

Is it a comedy? Pagasa is a military installation, so it’s not hard to envision a version of Stripes, cast with a bunch of funny younger actors.

Is it a romantic comedy? Given its isolation and lop-sided male-female ratio, it’s a natural and cinematic setting.

My point is that there’s a big difference between the world of a movie (the setting, the rules, the background color) and the movie itself. And that bridging that gap is what screenwriters do.

When you’re a newish-but-working writer in Hollywood, you get sent articles like this all the time. The producer or creative exec will say, “We think there’s a movie here. Come in and pitch your take.” Generally, they’ll give you some kind of direction, like, “We see it as The Piano, but, you know, funnier.”

As the screenwriter, your job is to come up with the characters, conflicts, goals, themes, reversals and set pieces that make the story worthwhile. (In TV, you call this breaking a story.) You’re not getting paid for this, even though it may take a week of your time. Rather, you’re auditioning for a job. You want them to hire you to write it.

Most of the time, you won’t get the job. But breaking story after story is amazing practice, and each pitch helps you figure out not only how plot works, but how the movie industry works.

Of course, buried in the premise, there’s a sweet love story and all that jazz, but it’s pretty crass stuff, replete with humor that, if taken the wrong way, could easily offend. Naturally, as an aspiring writer, I don’t want agents and the like to think: “Man, that Evan sure is homophobic and likes to talk about Mormon orgies.” Is there a way to address this in a query letter? Pitch meeting? Or should I just assume everyone will understand writers don’t necessarily create characters that they agree with?

– Evan
Los Angeles

Don’t stress over it. Hollywood folk are savvy enough to realize that actors who play serial killers aren’t themselves dangerous, and that the guys who wrote Saw aren’t any sicker than most screenwriters.

In a query letter, don’t back away from your premise or your big moments. If you wrote raunchy, let them know it’s raunchy. In a pitch meeting, there will be plenty of time to establish that you’re a normal human being without gay Mormon issues. And if they like your idea, they won’t care one way or the other.

What do I tell my agents if I can’t crack it?

– Stef

Your agents probably got excited by the idea because they think they can sell it — and you, as the writer.

Six weeks is a long time. I say this not to panic you, but to make sure you understand that employable screenwriters need to be able to produce on demand. You promised them something and didn’t deliver — that makes them nervous. How can they convince producers to hire you when you can’t hand them the script you yourself pitched?

Yes, sometimes seemingly-good ideas collapse upon further scrutiny, and it’s ultimately better to bail. If you truly can’t make your idea work, you need to move quickly on writing something else that is similarly marketable, even if it’s not the same genre. And you need to do it now.

When your agents ask, “What are you working on?” you should be able to answer immediately and passionately. So if it’s not the project you pitched them, make sure it’s something they’re going to be excited to read.

I was wondering if you could share some insight/commentary about pitching over the phone for people like me who do not (yet) live in Los Angeles. I’d hate to squander an opportunity like this because of bad phone etiquette.

- Alexander
Worcester, MA

The life of a screenwriter, both employed and aspiring, involves a fair number of phone calls. Most are short “just-checking-in” calls. But at least twice a week I find myself in your situation, having to handle something on the phone that would ideally be done face-to-face. I can offer a few suggestions for making the best of it.

1. Put yourself in the room.

Imagine that you’re sitting in the guy’s office, having a face-to-face meeting. Obviously, you have no idea what that office looks like, but you’re a screenwriter, so you should be able to conjure something up. More importantly, imagine whom you’re speaking with. You need a face in order to make eye contact.¹

I know this sounds goofy, but I think it makes a huge difference. You’re much more engaged when you’re looking someone in the eye — even if it’s all make-believe. It changes your voice, your pace, your word selection. It really helps.

2. Don’t multi-task.

If a phone call is important, dedicate every available brain cell to it. Turn off your computer and any other distraction. If possible, schedule the call. (Even then, there’s a high possibility that an assistant will call at the last minute to push it back 15 minutes. Don’t take any offense.)

3. Rehearse key points.

Since you’re going to be talking with possible producers, agents and managers, you can anticipate the kinds of things that will come up.

• Do you see yourself as mostly writing TV or film?
• What are you working on now?
• What’s happening with that script from the Nicholl?

You want answers to those questions, ideally phrased in ways that make you sound confident, flexible and funny. For example, if they ask if you’re living in Los Angeles, a good answer is, “Almost. I’m packing as we speak.” That may not be entirely accurate, but the person on the other end needs to hear that you’re serious about getting to Hollywood.

4. Ask and listen.

Don’t spend every brain cycle formulating the next clever thing to say. Ask questions and engage. If you’re speaking with someone for the first time, make sure you’re learning something about them as well.

Pitching on the phone is largely the same as pitching in person, with the added challenge of not being able to read body language. So keep it really short — like four sentences — unless they ask for more detail.

1. One downside of this technique: there are executives whom I’ve had long relationships with strictly on the phone and by email. By the time I meet them in person, my brain is locked into one image of them, and the actual person seems like an impostor.

Now I know stealing ideas rarely happens and there isn’t anything I can do to protect my rights on a story in the public domain, but if a producer I query decides to adapt the same novel I have, without using my script, well then my script is pretty much dead in the water, right?

Basically I was curious to find out if you think I should stop worrying and pitch these adaptation, or should I focus on pitching the other two scripts I’ve written (which are based on true stories I control the rights to) and then pull out my adaptations once I forge a working relationship with a producer?

– Rob
Ohio

Would it suck if a producer, upon reading your query letter (or hearing your pitch), decided to go off and use the same public domain material as the basis for a different writer’s script? Yes.

Is it likely? Not really.

Let’s say you wrote an adaptation of some lesser-known Christopher Marlowe work. Say, “Dido, Queen of Carthage.” The producer is unlikely to know anything about the story, so if your pitch (or query) is interesting enough that he wants to know more, he’ll read your script. At that point, you’ve succeeded in getting a producer to read your material, and that’s the whole point of pitches and queries at this stage in your career.

Sure, you hope he loves it and wants to produce it. But that’s all dependent on his reaction to your writing. If he likes your writing, and he likes the idea, you’re golden. If he doesn’t like your writing, his loss.¹

Either way, I think it’s unlikely that your script would suddenly kindle an interest in a long-ignored literary property. I’m sure there are cases where that’s happened, but it feels like the exception, rather than the rule. So if the best script you have available is an adaptation of a public domain piece, by all means show it around.

1. As a reminder, I assume that everyone writing in with a question is a fantastic screenwriter. This is an absurd postulate, but lets me sleep better at night.

One of the producers I pitched to loved the overall concept but had issues with my execution of it. He wants to develop it with me as a script.

On the one hand, I can see the value of having an experienced exec’s insight. Plus he was very excited about the idea and got it on a thematic level.

On the other, I am so sick of developing this idea which I’ve been working on for months and really want to start writing it now. (Even though it didn’t sell, I still think i can execute it well enough to sell.) I’m worried the producer’s ideas for plot changes were pretty major, and I may not agree with all of them. Plus I’d have to cater to his views in order for him to bring it to the studio. My inclination is to just go ahead and spec it, then show it again to him and everyone else. But I’m wondering what you think. I’d hate to pass up a good opportunity.

–KR
Los Angeles, CA

I don’t know the producer, so I can’t speak to his taste. But I think your instincts are right.

Look at it this way: Say you write the script and it still doesn’t sell. At least if you wrote the script the way you wanted, you’d always have something you believed in. But if you wrote it to the producer’s vision and it didn’t sell, you’d be stuck with a script that’s not really what you wanted in the first place.

So I say, spec it and take it to the producer first. If he still wants it his way, you can decide whether it’s worth the work to try it. He may even option it. But whatever happens, you’ll always have your version in the vault.

Whenever I write one it ends up sounding like it’s describing an action movie or drama. Any help would be greatly appreciated.

– Jeff in Maplewood

You aren’t going to be able to summarize the visual gags, puns and one-liners in a logline, so don’t try. Rather, you want to distill what’s funny about the idea of your movie. The best practice is to take existing movies and figure out how you’d boil them down if you had to write a logline.

None of these would classify as John’s Best Effort, but they get the point across:

• Groundhog Day — Bill Murray gets stuck repeating the same day, again and again. Every day, he tries to do something different, but the next morning everything resets to the way it was.

• Shrek — A grumpy ogre and his hyperactive donkey have to save a princess. The world is made up of all the different fairy tale characters, like the Three Little Pigs and the Gingerbread Man.

• Clueless — An airheaded but ultimately well-meaning Beverly Hills teenager tries to “makeover her soul” in a riff on Jane Austen’s Emma.

Accept the fact that some movies aren’t so easily summarized. For instance, we never did come up with a logline for Go which sounded actually funny.

Note: Looking up the IMDb summaries for these examples proves that anonymous posters can do better than the pros. For Shrek:

A reclusive ogre and a chatterbox donkey go on a quest to rescue a princess for a tyrannical midget lord.

Damn. It’s the “tyrannical midget lord” that makes it funny.

Keep in mind that Artful Writer is geared towards screenwriters who are already working in the industry, so the pitch-versus-write decision wouldn’t be the same for most aspiring screenwriters.

– Raffi Bagadasarian

For readers who don’t know, a pitch fest is an event where aspiring screenwriters pitch their screenplays to a group of Hollywood-types, who hopefully will want to read-slash-buy their scripts, or at least offer suggestions for improving their pitch technique.

A few years ago, I was on a (free) pitching panel for a local screenwriting conference. It was interesting, but I’m not sure it was terrifically helpful for the writers who pitched. (In fact, the other writers in the audience may have learned more just by listening to misguided pitch after misguided pitch, and the criticisms thereof.)

I’ve heard tales of studio executives buying ideas they heard during a pitch panel, but I don’t know of any verifiable success stories. If any readers have experiences, positive or negative, with pitch panels, please help Raffi out by leaving a comment.

Sounds cool. Any plot details you can share? Any chance we’ll ever get to see it produced?

–Dan
Los Angeles

The real question is if I’ll ever write it.

I sold this project as a pitch. Basically, I had a good idea for a scary, expensive tent-pole summer movie, so I met with Amy Pascal (who runs Columbia Pictures) and she liked it. Deals were made. Contracts were signed.

But then things got busy with the second Charlie’s Angels, Big Fish, and a half-dozen other movies I worked on. In the meantime, a long-dormant project at another studio came roaring back to life, and it was clear that I’d have to make some big changes to avoid overlapping with their story. (And no, I’m not going to say what that other movie is, but it is being made.)

So, as often happens, my project was put on a back burner. I never typed so much as a “FADE IN:”, nor have I been paid anything. Still, I may get around to writing it one day, because there’s some very intriguing stuff in the concept, which isn’t obvious in the press release.

One thing to bear in mind when reading about any project in the trades is that filmmakers will often be a little disingenous about the actual plot, for fear of spoiling the surprise. That’s certainly the case here. Suffice to say the movie is much less Jurassic Park-y than you’d think.

Who knows. Maybe one day I’ll do it.