John August

So-Called Experts

On the new Black List

Film Industry, So-Called Experts

Franklin Leonard, creator of [The Black List](http://blcklst.com), has announced a new incarnation of his site that allows screenwriters to upload their scripts for review and rating — for a fee:

> Aspiring screenwriters will pay $25 a month to have their scripts hosted on The Black List’s website, accessible only by a closed community of Hollywood professionals. They can further pay $50 for evaluations by anonymous script readers hired by The Black List. Every read by industry professionals generated by those evaluations is entirely free.

> Moreover, The Black List will not claim a commission, finder’s fee, or producer credit on business generated by their service. “Writers retain all rights to sell and produce their work and are free to negotiate the best deal they can get. All we ask is an email letting us know of their success,” added Leonard.

Many readers (and podcast listeners) have asked for my take on it.

At first glance, it feels like an attempt to leverage the prestige of The Black List to create yet another service making money off aspiring screenwriters.

Yet Franklin Leonard knows what the hell he’s doing. This isn’t another Amazon Studios situation, where an outside entity boldly declares it can fix what’s wrong with the film industry. Leonard has already posted a [long list of answers](http://blog.blcklst.com/2012/10/the-what-how-and-why-of-the-black-list-the-long-answer-by-franklin-leonard/) to some of the immediate questions and feedback, showing he’s thought it through.

I can’t predict if this new Black List will succeed — or even if it’s a good thing for screenwriters and filmmakers — but I know it’s not done with naiveté or hubris. That makes it worth watching.

Craig Mazin and I will be discussing the new Black List in depth at Scriptnotes Live this Saturday in Austin, with the podcast episode scheduled to go up next Tuesday.

In which Stuart reads the Save the Cat! books and tells you what he thought

Books, So-Called Experts, Stuart

I don’t read how-to books on screenwriting, but Stuart does, so I occasionally ask him to write up his impressions. For this round, he tackled the three Save the Cat! books by Blake Snyder.

**tl;dr version:** Stuart liked them. While I don’t endorse any how-to gurus, it sounds like these books are better than most.

—-

by_stuartWhenever screenwriting books or gurus are mentioned on John’s site, it is with near death-or-taxes certainty someone will bring up the Save the Cat! series in the comments.

Blake Snyder’s resume is offered as a counter-example to the “those that can’t do teach” complaint. Snyder, who passed away in 2009, was an actual screenwriter, having written Blank Check and Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot. You can debate the merits of those credits, but those are two credits more than most screenwriting gurus can offer.

Over the years, I had sat down with [the first Save the Cat!](http://www.amazon.com/dp/1932907009/?tag=johnaugustcom-20) a few times, but had never managed to get past the first chapter, where Snyder repeatedly cites the brilliance of Four Christmases, which at that time was nothing more than a title and logline. Still, multiple people whose opinions I trust had assured me StC is worthwhile. I started to feel like someone who was having trouble getting past the first few episodes of The Wire. “You’ll see – it’s great.” “It’s worth it.” “You’ll get it soon.”

And they were right.

Getting the lingo
—

Save the Cat! has become a sort-of brand of its own. The books now have companion software for both computers and iOS devices, a blog that offers advice and film analysis through the StC lens, and seminars that have continued since Snyder’s death.

StC has its own vocabulary. “Save the cat” refers to the idea that our hero should win over the audience from the outset by doing something likeable the first time we meet her, like saving a cat. “Pope in the pool” is the name given to distractions used to disguise exposition.

There are a lot of these — some specific, some general, all helpful. But most people can discuss first acts even if you haven’t read Syd Field. To speak StC, you have to speak StC.

The books’ basic argument is that well-constructed, emotionally satisfying movies can be broken into 15 essential beats, which Blake outlines on his BS2 (Blake Snyder Beat Sheet):

>1. Opening image (page 1)
>2. Theme stated (5)
>3. Set up (1 – 10)
>4. Catalyst (12)
>5. Debate (12 – 25)
>6. Break in two (25)
>7. B-story (30)
>8. Fun and games (30 – 55)
>9. Midpoint (55)
>10. Bad guy closes in (55 – 75)
>11. All is lost (75)
>12. Dark night of the soul (75 – 85)
>13. Break into three (85)
>14. Finale (85 – 110)
>15. Final image (110)

For those of you who have read other screenwriting how-to books before, this may feel old hat. This is Snyder’s version of the formula that is the backbone to all of these.

Snyder explores the idea in more specific detail by defining the ten basic stories all movies tell, and demonstrating the way the formula applies to each. Those stories are:

>* **Monster in the House** — Of which *Jaws, Tremors, Alien, The Exorcist, Fatal Attraction,* and *Panic Room* are examples.
>* **Golden Fleece** — This is the category of movie best exemplified by *Star Wars; the Wizard of Oz; Planes, Trains and Automobiles; Back To The Future;* and most “heist movies.”
>* **Out of the Bottle** — This incorporates films like *Liar, Liar; Bruce Almighty; Love Potion #9; Freaky Friday; Flubber;* and even my own little kid hit from Disney, *Blank Check*.
>* **Dude with a Problem** — This is a genre that ranges in style, tone, and emotional substance from *Breakdown* and *Die Hard* to *Titanic* and *Schindler’s List*.
>* **Rites of Passage** — Every change-of-life story from *10* to *Ordinary People* to *Days of Wine and Roses* makes this category.
>* **Buddy Love** — This genre is about more than the buddy movie dynamic as seen in cop buddy pictures, *Dumb & Dumber*, and *Rain Man* — but also every love story ever made!
>* **Whydunit** — Who cares *who*, it’s *why* that counts. Includes *Chinatown, China Syndrome, JFK,* and *The Insider*.
>* **The Fool Triumphant** — One of the oldest story types, this category includes *Being There, Forrest Gump, Dave, The Jerk, Amadeus,* and the work of silent clowns like Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
>* **Institutionalized** — Just like it sounds, this is about groups: *Animal House, M\*A\*S\*H, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,* and “family” sags such as *American Beauty* and *The Godfather*.
>* **Superhero** — This isn’t just about the obvious tales you’d think of, like *Superman* and *Batman*, but also includes *Dracula, Frankenstein,* even *Gladiator* and *A Beautiful Mind*.

The second book, [Save the Cat! Goes to the Movies](http://www.amazon.com/dp/1932907351/?tag=johnaugustcom-20), is dedicated to breaking down movies that exemplify each of these stories’ sub-categories. And his blog continues to offer breakdowns of current movies.

The first book goes on to offer methods for constructing your own stories quickly and efficiently once you’ve accepted these basics. Snyder lays out plans for an easy and well-organized 40-beat note card board (ten each for acts 1, 2a, 2b, and 3), ways to organize said beats so they work together emotionally and build towards a whole, and ways to break down the beats into manageable chunks.

Snyder makes the whole task of writing a screenplay seem downright doable.

The first book is also full of advice about loglines, titles, pitches, double checking your story, adding weight — all the standard fare, discussed thoroughly and simply. And the third book, [Save the Cat! Strikes Back](http://www.amazon.com/dp/0984157603/?tag=johnaugustcom-20), is more of the same, although it focuses on addressing common questions he heard from people who have read the first two books, and discusses some after-the-writing questions, like how to dress for a pitch or how to handle your first meeting.

The three add up to a fairly comprehensive overview of a screenwriter’s career, and really work well as complements.

What’s not so great
—

This is not to say they are without issue, however. When discussing the problems with screenwriting books, people often point to Save the Cat! as the ones that get it right. But really, the StC books are not essentially unique. They fail in the same places most other screenwriting books do.

At times, and increasingly as the books go on, Blake writes as if he is leading a seminar. I found the self-helpy tone annoying:

>And while so many other screenwriting schools focus on the can’ts, that’s how Strike Back U. is different.

>Because we know you can.

In this case and others, this tone does no good. It is both belittling and falsely optimistic, as it presents an optimism that is based on nothing. It implies that this isn’t just a course for beginners, but a magic key that will unlock the secrets to screenwriting success.

Snyder is also a little too unapologetically commercial. While I praise him for not giving into critics who fault his mainstream taste, he eschews defenses when defenses are warranted. He will make passing mention of how his breakdowns can be applied to less-commercial movies too, but more often than not it almost feels like he’s taunting his critics.

Snyder tells writers to get through writer’s block by thinking, “Here’s the bad way to do this,” and then doing it. He points to Four Christmases’s 22% Rotten Tomatoes score as something we should find encouraging. And on some level, the very nature of the exercise feels like one of imitation.

Frankly, I think the StC series is the best of the how-to books I’ve read, but they’re not fundamentally different. Sure, they are written by somebody with a little more experience. But if you disagree with the thesis at the heart of this class of books — the idea that there is a formula, and you can learn it — the Save the Cat! books will not change your mind.

But if you’re okay with the notion that there is a universally and emotionally pleasing cadence to movies and you are looking for some help mastering it, the Save the Cat! books present these ideas clearly and manageably without forcing it. The books offer a lot of simple and well-thought-out tips to make your movies better, and they present Hollywood in a realistic (yet painfully optimistic) way.

Bottom line: The StC books are not the Holy Grail counter-example they’re often purported to be, but from what I have read, they are indeed the best how-tos being sold.

Breaking down Big Fish

Big Fish, Projects, So-Called Experts

A reader forwarded a link to this [structural analysis of Big Fish](http://thescriptlab.com/screenplay/five-plot-point-breakdowns/858-big-fish-2003), which attempts to break down my screenplay down into five plot points:

1. Inciting incident

2. Lock in

3. First culmination

4. Main culmination

5. Third act twist

It’s always strange seeing your work dissected by others, especially when they’re trying to fit a specific template with unfamiliar terminology. (I’ve never used or seen the term “first culmination.”)

In this case, I can’t disagree with the report’s overall accuracy — events in the script do happen on the pages listed — but I’m not convinced it’s a particularly helpful exercise.

What might be more useful is to compare what this report describes with what I actually intended when writing the screenplay.

> INCITING INCIDENT

> It’s been three years since Will Bloom (Billy Crudup) last spoke with his father Edward Bloom (Albert Finney), but he flies back home to see his dad, who is dying of cancer. Will enters his father’s bedroom and asks his dad to tell him the true version of the stories Edward has told all his life.

One could argue the inciting incident is really the fight at Will’s wedding, since that provides a point of focus for the conflict and sets up the central dramatic question: How can this father and son reconcile?

But as I pitched it and wrote it, I really did consider that first aborted bedside conversation as the inciting incident. The cancer diagnosis provides a ticking clock, and refines the question by adding urgency: Can this father and son reconcile in time?

> LOCK IN (End of Act One)

> In one of his stories, the young Edward (Ewan McGregor) leaves the small town of Ashton along with Karl the Giant; however, early on in their journey, they reach a crossroads: the longer, safer route and the shorter, more dangerous one.

Big Fish has two parallel stories: Edward in the past and Will in the present.

Edward leaving Ashton feels like the end of the first act (a character goes on a journey), but it doesn’t have much to do with the central dramatic question (father and son reconciliation). For example, if we omitted Spectre altogether, the Will-and-Edward plot line could be largely the same.

As I was writing it, I considered the witch’s eye a more significant moment. Young Edward learns how he is going to die, a detail that impacts both the storyline in the past (Edward no longer fears death) and the present (Edward is now dying).

> FIRST CULMINATION (Midpoint)

> [Edward works] at a circus for free under the condition that the ringmaster, Amos Calloway (Danny DeVito), will tell him one thing each month about his dream girl [Sandra Templeton].

I would agree that the focus of the middle of the movie is Sandra. I’m not sure which moment in the romance I’d single out as the most important, but the daffodils scene is a strong contender.

The movie is much more of a romance than Daniel Wallace’s novel, which didn’t have the circus, the war or most of the other obstacles on the path to true love. We spend a lot of time on Edward’s quest to find Sandra.

In the present day storyline, Will suspects his father has been cheating, and may have found proof. Both father and son have achieved goals — but they’re further apart than ever.

> MAIN CULMINATION (End of Act Two)

> Back in present day, Will is cleaning out his dad’s office and sees a document about Jenny from Specter. Thinking this is a woman in which his dad had an affair, Will drives to Specter and meets Jenny.

I always think of the end of the second act as “the worst of the worst,” the moment at which sucessful resolution seems absolutely impossible.

To me, that moment comes when Will learns his father has had a stroke. Jenny Hill has just told Will that his father has been faithful to his mother. Will would finally be able to have a conversation with his father about it — but because of the stroke, he can’t.

> THIRD ACT TWIST

> At the hospital, Edward […] wakes up, saying that this is how he dies but panics, unable to tell the story. Will then takes over his dad’s storytelling and begins telling an amazing fantastical story of how his father will die.

I agree that this is the crucial moment. Will has to create one of his father’s stories on the spot.

Also, I’d argue that this “how I go” moment shows how important the witch’s eye moment really was.

In early drafts of the script, Will didn’t tell the story directly to Edward, but rather told a similar story to Edward’s friends at the funeral. I’m eternally grateful to my smart producers for convincing me to try it at the bedside. That simple shift had a huge impact.

Does any of this matter?
—

Not really. I can’t even agree with myself which plot points should carry which labels, so it can’t be that important.

Far too often I see aspiring screenwriters struggling to make the great movies they see in their heads fit into proscribed templates. So I’m officially giving you permission to stop. Relax. You’ll be fine.

Theory is theory. Writing is real, and really hard sometimes.

It’s worth learning enough about dramatic theory so you can ask smart questions about your work — “How can I make things worse for my hero?” is always a good one — but you’re not required to answer every question or tick every checkbox.

And remember: If so-called experts really knew the secrets, they would be writing movies rather than selling books about writing movies.

Those who can’t write, teach seminars

So-Called Experts

Craig Mazin came back from Austin with some strong words about [script consultants](http://artfulwriter.com/?p=1095):

> Listening to and questioning the people who do the job you want is a smart move.

> What is NOT a smart move is listening to the people who DON’T do the job. And who are they? Oh, you know who they are. They’re selling books. They’re selling seminars. They’re “script consultants.” And for a small fee, or a medium fee, or a goddamned flat-out ridiculous fee, they’ll coach you right into the big leagues!

> Horseshit. Let me say it loudly and clearly: IF THEY WERE ANY GOOD, THEY WOULD BE DOING WHAT I DO, NOT DOING WHAT THEY DO.

> Dig? Simple rule of thumb: don’t spend a dime on a book, a lesson, a seminar or advice if the person selling DOESN’T HAVE A REAL MOVIE CREDIT.

Craig focuses on Linda Seger, but the fact is that very few people who write screenwriting how-to books have meaningful writing credits. They make a living selling advice to aspiring screenwriters, either one-on-one or at seminars.

I don’t endorse any of them. I haven’t found any I’d recommend to readers.

But here’s where I disagree with Craig: I think you can learn from people who have spent a long time analyzing a craft, even if they’re not particularly good at practicing it.

Sports are the easiest analogy. Many of the best coaches were never star players. Rather, the top coaches have the ability to extract the best efforts from the athletes they train. They recognize weakness and focus attention. It’s conceivable that the same could hold true for screenwriting. There might be individuals with a remarkable sense of both the broad narrative form and the precise on-the-page details.

And yet: in Hollywood, someone with this set of skills could make a much better living as a producer, manager or development executive. Rather than charging screenwriters, they would work with them to get movies made. And they do. I’ve worked with a half-dozen non-writers who taught me a lot about screenwriting. None of them charged me a dime.

When I see “script consultant,” I don’t think *failed screenwriter.* I think *failed producer.*