I now fully regret my earlier ambivalence about MySpace. As it turns out, the site is only lame when you have 600 or 700 friends. Having crossed the magic threshold of 1,000 MySpace pals, I truly understand what all the fuss is about.

The difference is MySpace Advanced, and you can only access it when you have more than 1,000 friends. It’s beta, and I guess I clicked on some sort of non-disclosure button when I accepted. But it’s too great a secret to keep to myself.

Here are just some of the improvements you get with MySpace Advanced:

• Full CSS styling. No longer do you have to hide formatting in weird text boxes.

• AJAX-y goodness. You can delete rogue comments in-place, or drag-and-drop elements on the page.

• HTML tag destroyers. Not only can you turn off HTML graphics in comments, you can automatically delete any comment that tries to use them.

• Lameness filters. Sick of people leaving ASCII graphics as comments? Just click the checkbox and they’re history.

• Smarter ads. Even though it says “gay” in your “orientation” field, the system knows you might be interested in something other than a shirtless guy for Gay.com.

• Education screening. The system parses every message, comment and profile blurb a user writes, generating an estimated education level for the user. I have my threshold set to “College Grad,” which effectively silences the stupid people.¹

The new version is terrific. Unfortunately, it doesn’t exist.

Even with a thousand so-called friends, the system is just as lame and frustrating as it was when it was just me and Tom.² So, this is my way of saying goodbye to MySpace in all its craptastic-ness. See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.

1. You can also set a top education limit, good for shutting out snarky screenwriters. ↩
2. By the way, has anyone else noticed that “Tom” has formatting errors on his page, and _he’s the freakin’ spokesperson?_ Check his “Movies” section. ↩

I’ve seen a lot of articles about the Digg Effect and what a site can expect after having a bunch of new visitors arrive to check out an article, as happened with my recent post on Warcraft.

The general prediction is that readership drops to normal levels pretty quickly, and that’s borne out by the stats.

Page views are a little higher post-Digg, but it’s nothing like the giant spike that happened in the middle of the Digg storm. Most of the people who clicked through were following a story about Warcraft; most of them weren’t screenwriters. (Living in Los Angeles, it’s easy to forget that there are some people in this big world who haven’t written a script.)

On a somewhat-related note, I’ve upgraded to the most recent WordPress, and the site seems to be running a little faster for it.

Measured by the number of entries, the first-ever John August Scene Challenge was a surprising success. In terms of quality, well, there was a disappointing sameness that I’m going to blame on the limited nature of the assignment.

Many entries were just a slightly-better version of the existing scene. While a lot of rewriting is polishing and optimizing, a challenge like this one should be seen as a call to arms. Fortune favors the bold, because really, what have you got to lose trying an outlandish approach? It’s not like you’re going to get voted off.¹

That’s why I’m handing first place to Liz (#57), who went in a vastly different direction with the scene. It’s not perfect, but it’s disturbing in an interesting way, which counts for a lot. It’s like American Pie as remade by Lars Von Trier.

Of the more conventional entries, my favorite was probably by Eric Szyszka (#18), who recognized that since the audience fully expects Shane to get caught whacking off, the real opportunity comes in reaching for unexpected references. In this case, Blingons.

I’m impressed by all the readers who took the time to enter.² Notably, nearly every scene was better than original, which should give Shane plenty of ammunition to say, “Suck it, Sam.” I fully plan to do this again with a bit more open-ended assignment.

Do you agree or disagree with my assessments? The comments section is your chance to stump for what you think should have won. Just keep in mind that campaigning for your own entry is lame, and will probably be exposed.

1. Why hasn’t there been a competitive reality show about screenwriting? Oh, that’s right, because it would be incredibly boring. ↩
2. Yes, I did read the ones that came in late, or got eaten by the virtual dog. ↩

Josh Horowitz from MTV News wrote in to point out that The Flash business wasn’t the only thing they ran from our Sundance interview. In fact, the full version, now up on MTV Overdrive, succeeds in making both Ryan and me sound coherent, which is no small feat.

Here’s what you can’t see in the video:

1. Ryan is sick with strep throat.
2. I’m wearing a Daring Fireball t-shirt. (You can see it in some photos from that day.)
3. There are about 30 people just off camera, being occasionally shushed.

Josh was a good interviewer, honestly, so I’m sorry to harsh on him for The Flash business. I soon hope to have comic book news of my own to avoid discussing.

In my previous post on How to write a scene, I wrote that the first question a screenwriter should ask is, “What needs to happen in this scene?” Not only that…

Many screenwriting books will tell you to focus on what the characters want. This is wrong. The characters are not responsible for the story. You are. If characters were allowed to control their scenes, most characters would chose to avoid conflict, and movies would be crushingly boring.

As I typed this, I anticipated a sea of hands shooting into the air, a chorus of But! But! Buts! So I added a lengthy disclaimer in which I wrote about terms like “character driven” and “character motivation.” But then I decided to cut it, just to get the reaction:

John, are you fucking retarded? A character must act his character not what’s most convenient for you. — Chris

Now that Chris has lectured the professional screenwriter on the craft, we can take a look at why I stand by my point.

We’ve all seen dull, mechanical movies where the characters are pretty much spectators. The story is driven by external events, without any real engagement or decision-making by the so-called hero. Sure, at times they may discover information or get in a gunfight, but they’re basically zombies. Plot-bots.

This is a fundamental structural issue, not a scene problem. From the conceptual stage, the characters were placed in the wrong seat of the car. They’re in the passenger seat, staring out the window, when they should be behind the wheel. The best scene-work in the world isn’t going to solve this problem.

Remember: This is a tutorial about how to write one scene. The first question is, “What needs to happen in this scene?” Or, to rephrase it, “What do I need to show the audience?” Yes, the character should be responsible for his or her actions and decisions inside the movie, but you, the writer, are responsible for deciding which moments the audience gets to see.

Think of yourself as a documentary editor. You have hundreds of hours of footage. Which bits are you going to use to tell your story?

In your movie–an inspiring drama set against the majestic backdrop of Alaska–the hero may want to win the igloo-building championship to prove his dead architect father’s theories correct and reconnect with his Inuit half-brother. But in this particular scene, what needs to happen is that the judges rule that ice blocks must be quadrilateral, thus thwarting the hero’s geodesic ambitions.

Clear? Great. Now let’s talk about situations when “what a character wants” does become scene-specific.

Actors and directors often talk of “character motivation,” using phrases like, “What’s the character’s motivation in this scene?” That’s a valid if somewhat dispiriting question, particularly on the set; either they’ve shown up without doing their homework, or the script really is that confusing. You may find yourself explaining that the hero is trying to rescue his son from the avalanche because he loves him.

If you re-read my how-to, at no point was I advising forcing your characters to act against their natures. But I was telling you to take control. My post was about writing a single scene, and a single meandering scene can derail a script. The argument that, “But my hero really wanted to watch TV for a couple of hours!” won’t win you accolades for your dedication to the craft.

Yesterday afternoon, I hauled my butt over to the Sunset 5 to catch Little Children. I’d been dying to see it ever since catching the brilliant trailer months ago. (The trailer was better than the movie, which is no slam on the film. The trailer really is that good.)

Today’s mail brought a screener copy of Little Children. Anticipating this will be a trend, I’d like to pre-announce the movies I plan to see soon, so that the studios can be ready with the DVD follow-up: Children of Men, The Good Shepherd, and the Alien Quadrilogy.¹

Screeners to date:

• Little Children
• Babel
• World Trade Center
• United 93
• Notes on a Scandal
• Flags of Our Fathers
• Little Miss Sunshine
• Thank You for Smoking

1. Okay, that last one’s not in theaters. But I’d like a copy, all the same. ↩