John August

Genres

“No signal” is the new air duct

Genres, Video, Words on the page

This terrific compilation clip by [FourFour](http://fourfour.typepad.com)’s Rich Juzwiak demonstrates what a hoary cliché it has become to explain why movie characters aren’t using their cell phones.

I plead guilty, having used the “signal goes away” variation as a major element in Part Three of The Nines. (I feel both disappointment and relief to have not made the cut.)

Unlike the [air duct cliché](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2006/air-vents-are-for-air), the cell phone problem can’t be solved by a simple vow of chastity. Cell phones are real things people use every day, so ignoring them is rarely an option for a movie set present day.

Don’t write movies in which characters would call for help. That’s probably the best advice I can offer.

Groundhog Day and Unexplained Magic

Genres, Story and Plot

An observation made halfway through a five-hour meeting in Beijing: in the movie Groundhog Day, it is never explained why Bill Murray’s character is stuck in a time loop.

Yes, the emotional reason is clear: he’s a selfish asshole, and needs to learn to be less of one. But the actual supernatural mechanism is never part of the movie. There’s not a magic clock, or a nuclear wristwatch. Punxsutawney Phil isn’t secretly a wizard.

Rather, weatherman Phil Connors is stuck in a time loop because, well, he is. We buy it, and we don’t demand further explanation. ((According to Wikipedia, at least one draft of Groundhog Day did include an explicit reason for the time loop — a voodoo spell cast by a coworker. Not only did the movie not need it; I’d argue that being so specific would have hurt the premise by focusing attention on her rather than him.))

Most movies would make a point of singling out some physical object or act that brought about the situation. The hero would find something, break something or do something (an accidental birthday wish, pissing off a witch) as an inciting incident. It wouldn’t just happen.

But maybe it should.

You can often get rid of magic items and explicit wishes/curses, even in stories that seem to require them.

* Dorothy doesn’t do anything to summon the tornado that takes her from Kansas.

* Clark Kent doesn’t wish he could fly; he can fly because the story says he can. ((Or more broadly, the universe put baby Kal-El on a world with a certain color of sun.))

* The Connor family is marked for death not because of something they did or said, but because evil computers from the future worry about a threat. (Ditto for Neo in the Matrix.)

As the audience, we don’t demand proof. We accept the magic as part of the premise, and don’t require a prop to ground it.

To be clear: I’m not arguing to ban all magic props. Let Frodo have his ring. The Pevensie children can climb through a wardrobe into Narnia. And once in Oz, Dorothy should feel free to grab some dead woman’s shoes.

But when developing a story with a supernatural premise, fight the temptation to embody it in a thing. These MacGuffins ((A MacGuffin is a thing or idea that serves as a focal point to the plot, but is not what the movie is really about, and could easily be substituted with something else. TV Tropes has a long list of MacGuffins, which it considers “plot coupons.”)) get added with the aim of keeping things simple, but too often distract from the character’s real journey.

In your romantic comedy, Misfire, does your hero need to break up two ill-suited lovers, or get Cupid’s bow and arrow back? The former is funnier. The latter has more props and rules.

Always explore doing it the way Groundhog Day did: by letting magic questions go unasked and unanswered.

Setting is not story

Film Industry, Genres, Pitches

[This article](http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-paradise-prison26-2009jul26,0,3103335,full.story) from Sunday’s LA Times makes a great case study in the difference between an interesting setting and an actual movie idea:

> 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.

Challenge results

Challenge, Follow Up, Genres

[Scene Challenge]Oh, so *that’s* why I don’t do these more often.

There were 145 entries for the [Superheroic Scene Challenge](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge), and some of them were looooong. Printed out, they totaled 406 pages. Going side-by-side shrunk it to a still-ridiculous 203.

My assistant Matt and I read every one. We have a lot of honorable mentions.

Favorite hero names include [Trilobyte](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172335), [Mighty Mandi](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172325), [The Level](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172412), [Harico Ver](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172298), and [The Endurist](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172301).

I enjoyed seeing the wide range of possible interpretations on villain Brickhouse. Given the name, there were a slew of German/Austrian variants, but it was nice to see the occasional [Victorian spin](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172410), the [blaxpoitation vixen](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172320), and the villain who could [become the entire building](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172419). (Appropriately, his nemesis was Breckin Wall, a.k.a. Wreckin’ Ball.)

The challenge was to write an action scene, so I couldn’t give the gold medal to entries that were more talk than walk. But I enjoyed the non-action of this [diner conversation](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172385), this [con game](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172327), and this [riff on nanotechnology and bio-bots](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172418).

And you can’t get more non-action than an excellent [Buddhist superhero](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172415).

Finally, there were some that made the short list. Nima (he made Scrippets!) combined [robots with a Buffy-esque heroine](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172406). The Divide combined [robots with golems](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172279). Chip Street [kept the action tight](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172317), as did [Bill K.](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172401). Ryan Jackson explored the implications of [Dora’s magic backpack](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172330), while DougJ went the [teddy bear route](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172402).

The winner actually came quite early in the stack: [#7 by Spenturion](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2009/superheroic-scene-challenge#comment-172275), in which hero Azure battles Brickhouse while coaching a group of pre-teens in proper quips. It’s light on action, but keeps a nice tempo. And it’s short, which is no small victory.

EXT. CITY MUSEUM OF UBIQUITIES – NIGHT

Our hero, AZURE stands patiently waiting on the large marble front steps. Dressed in bright blue body kevlar and donning a pair of goggles on his head.

Around him stand three boys ages 9-13: a FAT BOY, a SHORT BOY and a NERDY BOY. They are all wearing matching blue t-shirts, and a cheap knock-off goggles.

AZURE

All right. Brickhouse is going to be coming through that door at any moment.

Right on cue, CRASH!

BRICKHOUSE comes tumbling through a solid brick wall, about 15 yards from the door. He stands tall, at about eight feet and built like his namesake implies.

He’s carrying a golden jeweled STAFF in his right hand. It looks like a pencil proportionately.

AZURE (CONT’D)

Remember what we talked about?

FAT BOY

Open the fight with witty banter.

AZURE

That’s right. Ok, I’ll take him on, you guys do like we practiced.

Brickhouse lets out a deep bellied laugh, and begins to run toward the group. He runs like a toddler, throwing his weight in to it with no fear, ready to topple at any moment.

BRICKHOUSE

Azure? God you’ve let yourself go. You a camp counselor?

Azure takes off running towards the man, at an impossible speed.

SHORT BOY

(overconfident)

That’s what she said.

Azure takes a flying leap, landing on the oaf’s back. He grips Brickhouse by the hair and begins PUNCHING him in the face.

AZURE

(between punches)

That’s not really so much banter... more importantly it didn’t make sense.

BRICKHOUSE

Get off of me!

Brickhouse tries to swat him away like a fly, all the while still barrelling towards the group of boys. Azure covers Brickhouse’s eyes.

FAT BOY

You’re momma’s so fat--

The short boy stops mid sentence as Brickhouse TRIPS, launching himself and Azure along with him, in to the air.

What follows is nothing short of beautiful: 600 pounds of muscle hits the ground, hard, tearing through the marble of the steps like tissue.

Azure rides the man like a surfboard.

They end up too close for comfort for the costumed boys, who all take a few steps back.

AZURE

We went over this!

Brickhouse struggles as he’s pinned down.

SHORT BOY

The bigger they are--

AZURE

(scolding)

Don’t even finish that...

BRICKHOUSE

(holds up staff)

Do you know what this is? I’ve got the Staff of Ptelomy! Do you know how long I’ve waited to get my hands on this staff?

SHORT BOY

That’s what she said!

AZURE

Better! Still not what I’m after.

BRICKHOUSE

How do you put up with this?

FAT BOY

You better put up or shut up!

AZURE

Again, not making sense.

The Nerdy boy begins to speak up, but cuts himself short and takes a step back.

Azure catches this and makes direct eye contact, punching Brickhouse instinctually.

AZURE (CONT’D)

Come on... you can do it. Can’t be much worse than what we’ve had so far.

NERDY

When we’re done with you, they’ll call you Pile-of-bricks.

AZURE

Finally.

WHACK! Azure lands a final heavy punch.

Brickhouse is beyond limp.

Azure grabs Brickhouse and THROWS him in to a nearby lightpole.

The metal pole bends around his weight and collapses. Azure approaches, takes the bar and wraps it around Brickhouse’s body, forming an impromptu straight jacket.

Red and blue lights flash as tires screech to a halt nearby.

Out of the eyesight from the children, Azure drops his heroic facade and lights up a cigarette.

BRICKHOUSE

What a bunch of wash-ups. How’d you get stuck training wannabes?

AZURE

Court ordered. I might have destroyed an orphanage fighting Gigantathorn.

BRICKHOUSE

I hate orphans.

Congrats to Spenturion, and to all the entrants for making the Best Challenge Ever. The next one will be limited to three sentences.