John August

Film Industry

Is screenwriting dead?

Film Industry, First Person

On the (http://johnaugust.com/podcast), Craig and I have discussed how much the career of screenwriting has changed over the past few years, and how it’s gotten harder for many feature writers to actually make a living at it.

In episode 35, a veteran screenwriter named Biff wrote in to vent about how grim studio development had become:

> I had a president of production ask for a free rewrite before he gave it to his chairman. Not a polish. He had notes. True multi-week notes. That doesn’t strike me as a producer’s polish. That strikes me as flat-out abusive.

> Has the landscape changed that much? Has the douchiness pervaded every level of the business? Have I turned into Clint Eastwood shouting get off my lawn?

A reader named Cordy wrote in to share his experience.

—

first personI’m a fairly new working writer. Screenwriting is paying my bills. I have a big-three agent, a name manager, many meetings, all the things I used to think would make it possible, if not easy, for me to have a career.

When I heard John reading Biff’s letter, my heart sank. I have to admit that I was secretly hoping you guys would be more like “Quit yer whinin’!” because then I could be stern with myself and like “Craig Mazin thinks my intensity is for shit. Win, Andrew, win!” but… this is pretty grim stuff.

I’ve seen Craig speak at the Guild, and he really inspired me to stop seeing myself as a victim of the capriciousness of people who control the pursestrings, and to try to be more upbeat and proactive about my career. So that’s cool. Not so cool is that even with my new attitude, I still run into some pretty tough roadblocks.

One example: At a pitch meeting at the studio I previously sold something to, I pitched out literally every scene, every arc, every relationship, specific jokes and set pieces, acting out whole chunks of dialog. This was for a remake of a movie that would cost the studio peanuts to make. I am not a business guy, but I think the risk level here was relatively low.
When I was finished pitching, the executive frowned at me and said “But why would people go see this movie instead of staying home? What makes this movie a big hit? You have to understand, that’s what my boss will ask me if I pitch this to him.”

So that project just died on the vine. I didn’t lose the job to anyone, they just killed it. I have struggled to frame this kind of thing for myself as an opportunity.

But I keep bumping against that executive’s question: how can I guarantee that what I’m pitching will be a big hit? I don’t think that I can, but that seems to be what people want. If I can’t magically say, “Yes, here is my crystal ball, it outperforms THE HUNGER GAMES, don’t worry about it,” they just shut me down.

It reminds me of that apocryphal story of the early days of Sony, when the Japanese executives were like, “Your problem is that you keep making bombs. From now on, we’re only going to make the hit movies.”

As a screenwriter, it feels like I am being asked to perform an impossible feat, and it’s easy to slip into bitterness.

But I don’t want to be bitter. I do want to do decent work and do okay financially and be able to support my family. Is there still a way for young screenwriters to build semi-steady careers, or is that paradigm gone forever? I know a lot of young writers in my general boat, and to be honest I think all of us are trying to get out of features and into TV.

There’s also a lot of dazed talk about how screenwriting as a job is just dead, Jim.

I don’t want to believe that. I want to believe that this thing I’ve spent my young adult life getting good at — and I am good at it — can still be made to pay a modest living if I work hard and make smart choices.

Should I act more as a “producer” of my own career? I write specs, and recently optioned some material. I am trying to get into TV.

Should I try to get involved with directors, and write him or her a project for free, in hopes that having a filmmaker attached will help? I have explored this a bit and found that there’s a roadblock here, too: directors who mean something as attachments can get brand-name writers to work for them. I know several writers, more established than I am, who are doing free work for A/B list directors right now.

There must be a way to break in to that. (I can’t believe I am scheming to do free fauxssignment work, but here I am.)

I do discuss all these things with my reps, who are smart people I trust. But I don’t think they have the answers. They just encourage me to write specs.

It seems like this seismic shift has happened so quickly and has left so many people behind that we’re all paddling frantically against the undertow.

20 Questions with John and Craig

Episode - 38

Go to Archive

Film Industry, Los Angeles, QandA, Scriptnotes, WGA

John and Craig open the listener mailbag and sprint through twenty questions in just under an hour.

➤ When John sets a timer for himself, what is his work/break interval sweet spot? (1:12)

➤ How do you break up with your manager? (2:16)

➤ Are there any tricks for organizing files when writing out of order? (3:42)

➤ Why join the WGA? (5:35)

➤ What “lingo” do Craig and John use in story meetings? (13:48)

➤ Will a writer be held back by English being her second language? (17:33)

➤ Is it better to release a short through festivals or by putting it online in parts? (19:37)

➤ Do John and Craig have tips for juggling multiple writing jobs? (21:17)

➤ What is a safe LA neighborhood with good schools for a writer/father who is making the move? (25:56)

➤ Do Craig and John’s finished movies look like they imagined while they were writing them? (30:23)

➤ Is it a smart idea for a 23-year-old aspiring screenwriter to pick up and move to LA? (34:05)

➤ If a character’s race is not specifically mentioned, why is he or she assumed white? (34:57)

➤ Is it okay to refer to specific actors while pitching? What about in the script itself? (39:12)

➤ How did John and Craig meet and decided to collaborate on Scriptnotes? (41:18)

➤ Are screenwriting contests or studio writers’ programs the right step for a 30-year-old mother of one living in Ohio? (42:34)

➤ Why would anyone would want to become a screenwriter in today’s studio climate? (46:38)

➤ If your spec pilot begs to be a premise pilot, is it better to use a non-pilot episode as your sample? (49:15)

➤ Why does page length change when converting files from Movie Magic to Final Draft? Which page count is correct? (51:29)

➤ If your historical epic has a lot of required backstory, is it okay to meet the protagonist on page 30? (53:41)

➤ Is there shame in running with an idea someone else freely posted online? (55:23)

All this and just slightly more on episode 38 of Scriptnotes.

LINKS:

* [The Pomodoro Technique](http://www.pomodorotechnique.com/)
* Craig’s [Done Deal Pro forums post](http://messageboard.donedealpro.com/boards/showthread.php?t=65716&page=15) that prompted the question about “lingo”
* INTRO: [Skyhawks](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlOF1CG6vsk) intro (via Monte Ferraro)
* OUTRO: [Bach’s Prelude & Fugue No. 1 in C Major](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EM6yMDB9wgE) by The Original Swingle Singers, 1963

You can download the episode here: [AAC](http://traffic.libsyn.com/scriptnotes/scriptnotes_ep_38.m4a).

**UPDATE** 5-24-12: The transcript of this episode can be found [here](http://johnaugust.com/2012/scriptnotes-ep-38-20-questions-with-john-and-craig-transcript).

Confessions of a trust-fund screenwriter

Film Industry, First Person, Follow Up, Psych 101

In response to [the podcast discusson](http://johnaugust.com/2012/professional-screenwriting-and-why-no-one-really-breaks-in) Craig and I recently had about the perceptions of nepotism and wealth in the film industry, a listener wrote in to share his experience.

—

first personI am a trust fund screenwriter. Or was. I moved out here with a lot of family backing (though no real connections). For my first two years in LA, I sat in my apartment all day, trying to make myself write, as I could afford it and thought it the best use of my time.

But the key word there is ‘trying.’

Having a trust fund is nice, but it didn’t help me become a writer. It’s very hard to sit down and force yourself to write for eight hours a day when there’s nothing else in your life.

Even when I did write, it didn’t make me a screenwriter; there’s still the whole business side of the business I needed to learn.

And when I didn’t write (because of writer’s block or whatever) the thought of “I’m wasting my time” crept into my head, and made it even harder. That’s not the only issue, though.

The issue is one of access. Yes, I have some family money (enough to live on for a while, but not enough for reality TV), but I don’t have family connections in LA. And so, while spending two years in my apartment trying to write all day, I met no one — no executives, no agents, no managers — assuming that once I’d completed my perfect script, they’d come flocking to me.

And that was wrong on two counts.

One, they wouldn’t have come flocking. From my couch, I didn’t meet anyone willing to read my script and help my career.

Second, I couldn’t write a perfect script, or even a very good one. While I was wasting time in my apartment, I wasn’t learning. I wasn’t living. I didn’t grow as a person, and the stagnancy I felt in my life was reflected in my scripts. They were interesting ideas, but, like me, had no life.

I’d never leap in from the outside. I’d never write anything great by staying on my couch. I wouldn’t meet the right people, learn the way things work. I still needed talent. I needed to know the industry outside and in before I could expect to fully be a part of it.

Staying at home, living off my trust fund and writing didn’t work.

My father, who unlike me worked himself up from nothing to the point where he could give his children trust funds, always said the thing that drove him was the knowledge that he didn’t have any other options. And for me, the trust fund is always another option. I’ve always had a safety net. Which isn’t to blame the trust fund or to imply in any way that having a trust fund isn’t a good problem to have. I’m not that blind.

But my money couldn’t buy connections, and reveling in my financial comfort didn’t breed creativity.

Getting off the golden couch
—-

I started going out more. Because I have enough to live on, I could afford to work internships, which I did for a year. That’s an advantage I have. But I don’t think most of the other interns at my level had that advantage.

Now, finally, after almost a year of working for nearly nothing, things are happening. I’ve met lots of people who are able and willing to help me, whether by reading my scripts or making introductions for me. I’m working now—for actual, cash money—as a script reader, as an administrator for a screenplay contest, and as a freelance video producer.

And I’m still writing. Better than ever before.

I’ve grown as a writer exponentially more while working than I grew in the two years I spent just writing. There’s nothing like reading 400 scripts as a contest judge to teach you what not to do in a screenplay.

I’m not a professional writer yet. And it’s possible that if I’d had to work to support myself, I’d have found myself so stressed and overworked that I’d have given up long ago. But I don’t think so. I’m working now, and I’m writing just as much as before.

Maybe the money held me back. It’s possible that if I’d been working in the industry, supporting myself and meeting people while writing in my free time, I’d be much farther along than I am now. I’d have experienced failure and hardship in my career sooner, and maybe I’d have learned sooner how to translate that into a truly great screenplay.

And maybe I’d have written that screenplay in my spare time instead of the crap I wrote from my couch. And maybe one of my friends and connections and mentors — which I never had from my apartment — would have read that script and passed it on, and I’d be a professional writer right now.

Maybe they’d pay me millions of dollars to write the next big movie. I’d spend all day by the pool in my Beverly Hills mansion, trying to write for eight hours because it’d be my full-time job.

I still probably couldn’t do it.

Not for eight hours a day. Not from home. Not by myself.

My trust fund is a blessing, and I recognize that. Many things are easier for me than other people. Being a screenwriter is not one of them.

How cost-cutting hurt movies

Film Industry

Gregory Poirier argues that movies have suffered because of [misguided cost-cutting](http://www.mydigitalpublication.com/article/POV/1030109/0/article.html):

> A few years ago (pre-strike, though it is impolitic to say so), studios developed lots of material. Many creative minds (that would be writers) doing lots of good work led to lots of options for the studios as to what made it to the screen. Even though there was a lot more development then, the costs were small compared to the rest of the movie-making process. Writers are, for better or worse, usually a tiny percentage of a major studio film’s budget. As the corporations that own the studios searched for ways to cut spending, writers became an obvious target. All of these writers being paid for things that never got made? Preposterous! Development funds were slashed and the number of good scripts in circulation cratered.

> Ironically, although this has been difficult for writers as a whole, the ones hardest hit by this disastrous policy are the studios themselves. They have crippled themselves in their ability to make good films.

Screenwriters are essentially the research and development departments of the film industry. Like any other business, a quick way to boost profits is to cut way back on research. But that costs companies in the long run, because they’re unlikely to have innovative products down the road.

Television hasn’t cut back in the same way. Even with the rise of reality television, the number of pilots ordered has increased, reaching a high of [169 produced pilots](http://www.filmla.com/uploads/FilmL.A.%202011%20Television%20Pilot%20Production%20Report_1307550793.pdf) last year.

I don’t think it’s coincidence that TV has hit so many home runs lately. They’re taking more swings.

Television pilots cost several million dollars each — more money than any feature is likely to spend on a script. But in TV, shooting a pilot that doesn’t get picked up isn’t considered a failure. It’s par for the course. It’s the cost of doing business.

Poirier wishes movie studios would emulate the TV mindset:

> More writers working on more projects, with more freedom as to where the story leads, and with the knowledge that they have partners at the studio they can trust to see the solutions as well as the issues; this is what will return movies to their rightful place as the most fertile ground for good storytelling. The corporations that run Hollywood now and the MBAs that develop for them must come to see that writers are, in practicality, the smallest expense in the entire pipeline.

There’s always the risk of a golden-age fallacy — *things were so much better back then* — and truthfully, writing for television can suck in its own special ways. So let’s not chase too many rainbows, or pretend that throwing money at the problem will fix everything.

We’ve created a culture of sweepstakes pitching, pre-writes and unpaid rewrites that won’t magically go away. For the current generation of development execs, this fear-based cover-your-ass approach to screenwriters is completely normal.

And with more movies in development, that would also mean more scripts that never shoot. Trust me: getting paid to write an unproduced movie is not the Hollywood dream.

Still, the exodus of feature writers to television might slow or even reverse if studios were willing to gamble even a little bit. TV will roll the dice on risky ideas — “It’s a show about a plane crash on an island with a smoke monster!” — because when these shows work, they break out.

Movie studios won’t even try. In most cases, if they can’t see the poster, they won’t even consider the pitch.

Maybe that makes the studio system ripe for disruption. Money is money, and there are new billionaires every day. But I suspect the solution is slower and steadier, with studios reframing their approach: paying writers pays dividends, both in the short term and the long run.