John August

Story and Plot

What if my movie is too much like another?

Genres, QandA, Story and Plot

questionmarkI have been working on a spec that has a great premise. Not long ago, a Big Hollywood Movie came out with a very similar premise, and touched on similar themes as my script. Now, I’m NOT asking, “Can I sue?”, or any of the other similar questions I have found asked by others in this situation.

My story has a different angle, and of course, I think it’s better than this other movie. What I want to know is this: when this thing is ready to send out (looking for agent, mainly, but as evidenced by Big Hollywood Movie, it might sell), should I mention its similarity to the Big Hollywood Movie? Would doing so help or hinder my cause? I can foresee the situation where I mention up front that my script is like Big Hollywood Movie, not wanting to look like a copycat, but I end up looking like more of a copycat. On the other hand, I can foresee coming off as a copycat if I don’t mention it. Sacrificing brevity for clarity, I again ask:

When this thing is ready to send out, should I mention its similarity to the Big Hollywood Movie?

— Luke
Washington, DC

Without knowing the specific details of your plot, it’s impossible to say. But here’s the issue I think you’re overlooking: is your script really that similar?

You think so, because you’ve been staring at your script for months, cursing your dumb luck to have written something so much like Big Dumb Hollywood Movie. But to an outside observer, it might not seem that way.

Years ago, when I was working on my [Untitled Zombie Western](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2005/a-movie-by-any-other-name), I read in Variety about two different “cowboy and aliens” projects rushing though development. I was certain my project was doomed — no way would anyone want to do my genre-crossing hybrid now. I refused to listen to friends’ reasonable advice: aliens are not zombies; my setting was distinct; most movies never make it out of development.

My friends were right on all three counts, and neither of the cowboys-and-aliens movies have shot. (Neither has my zombie western, so my schadenfreude offers limited satisfaction.)

You say that your script has a similar premise and theme, but neither of those speak to plot. X-MEN and SKY HIGH have similar premises, but if you’d written the latter, you wouldn’t automatically draw the comparison to the former.

Here’s probably the best test for whether you need to acknowledge the similarity to Big Hollywood Movie: write a three-sentence description of your script. If it sounds a lot like the other movie, you should probably call it out. But if it’s clear how it differs, then leave it alone.

Ultimately, the similarities between your script and the other movie might be enough to keep it from progressing. But remember that the goal of this script is to get people to notice how good your writing is. Execution is what matters.

Can Dracula’s son get a book deal?

Genres, QandA, Story and Plot

questionmarkWhat is the best way to get my life story read by someone? I am the son of Dracula.

–Nicholas
via imdb

Common sense would suggest you are in fact not Dracula’s son, but rather a nutjob who wants to see his name in print. But no matter. The vast majority of memoirs are written by vain, delusional nutjobs, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t be entitled to your six-figure advance. This is America. Not only do you have the right to be semi-famous, you have the right to milk your semi-fame with an unnecessary but hopefully entertaining best-seller.

More than truth, what a memoir really needs is a hook, and I think you’ve found a great one. Let’s start with the title. Ignore those who would urge you to pick Dracula’s Son or In Red Blood. That’s not direct enough. You want a title that is so obvious that even viewers who skip over your Today show interview know exactly who you are and what your book is about: I Am Dracula’s Son.

Now that we’ve picked a title, there’s the trifling concern of the book itself. Whether you write it yourself, or hire a ghostwriter to “put in the periods and commas,” you need to ask yourself: What story am I telling? Is it a tale of darkness and redemption, wacky family hijinks, or perhaps a long struggle to find acceptance?

To have any shot at the best-seller list, your story should include at least six of the following:

* Addiction
* Sexual abuse
* Dangerous under-parenting
* Suffocating over-parenting
* Frequent moving
* Mental illness, preferably bi-polar disorder
* Poverty
* Great wealth
* Murder
* Eating disorders
* Death of a sibling

In the case of your “life’s story,” the spotlight is clearly on the big man himself, Daddy Dracula. You might think the fact that he’s the ravaging, immortal prince of darkness would be enough. You’d be wrong.

More than just evil, he needs to be crazy. Not crazy in a let’s paint the kitchen bright red! sort of way. But crazy in a gas oven, toothpaste sandwich, I am God sort of way. (This advice comes from Augusten Burrough’s excellent Running with Scissors, which sets a deliriously high bar. I have a wee literary crush on my semi-namesake. I hope the upcoming movie does the book justice.)

As you shape your memoir, remember that no one is buying your book to learn about the real you. Real People are not interesting, no matter what Skip Stevenson Stephenson and Sarah Purcell might have led you to believe. You need to think of yourself as a character. That is, exaggerate the best and worst qualities while minimizing any sense of normalcy. In terms of plot, the question isn’t, “What happened next?” but rather “What’s the most shocking thing a reader might possibly believe?” If you’re stumped, see the list above.

Best of luck with the book, Nicholas. I look forward to reading it, just as soon as I finish Jim McGreevey’s apologia for being a closeted scumbag.

Cut-scenes do not a videogame make

Prince of Persia, Rant, Story and Plot

Screenwriter and videogame developer Jordan Mechner, who is writing the Prince of Persia movie I’m executive-producing, has a [great opinion piece](http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/14.04/story.html
) in the new Wired magazine. In it, he argues that videogame-makers need to stop trying to ape Hollywood blockbusters, and instead focus on creating _playable_ stories:

In a movie, the story is what the characters do. In a game, the story is what the player does. The actions that count are the player’s. Better game storytelling doesn’t mean producing higher-quality cinematic cutscenes; it means constructing the game so that the most powerful and exciting moments of the story occur not in the cutscenes but during the gameplay itself.

You can see the whole article [here](http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/14.04/story.html).

What’s the difference between Hero, Main Character and Protagonist?

QandA, Story and Plot

questionmarkI have a supporting character that seems to fill a far greater purpose
than I originally anticipated. The supporting character fits
Wikipedia’s definition of [Hero](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hero). However, [your definition](http://johnaugust.com/site/glossary) says hero and main character are synonymous.

In my story, the protagonist is the main character; it’s his story. But everything is affected by this supporting character’s possession of “character far greater than that of a typical person.”

Is it wheels off to have a main character and protagonist not be the hero
in the end? Do you think the audience will feel cheated by a decision
like this?

— Trey
Dallas, TX

We’re venturing into Dramatic Theory 101, so if you’re the type who begins squirming in your seat when professor-types talk about [Joseph Campbell](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Campbell) and character arcs, you can save yourself a lot of frustration by stopping after the following sentence:

In most cases, “Hero,” “Main Character,” and “Protagonist” are the same character.

Seriously, you can stop reading now. Here’s a nice article about [raising orphaned squirrels](https://www.squirrelsandmore.com/pages/basic-steps-to-taking-care-of-a-baby-squirrel).

Now, for readers who are still with me, let’s try to come up with more specific definitions for these three terms, and explore why they may apply to different characters in certain stories.

Hero
My incredibly-simplified definition: this is the character who you hope to see “win.” While it’s fine to think of Superman, or Aladdin, the hero doesn’t have to be noble, or courageous, or especially talented. As long as you’re rooting for him, that’s what matters.

Main Character
Just what it sounds like: this is the character who the story is mostly about. Confused? Often his or her name is in the title: Shrek, King Arthur, Tootsie, Citizen Kane.

Protagonist
The character who changes over the course of the story, travelling from Point A to Point B, either literally or figuratively. She learns and grows as the story progresses. Generally, Protagonists want something at the start of the tale, and discover they need something else.

Now, remember, most times, one character is all three of these things. For example, Ripley in Aliens is clearly the Hero (fighting the monster), the Main Character (the story is mostly about her), and the Protagonist (she reluctantly joins the trip, but ends up descending to the depths to fight for her “daughter”).

The same triple-aspect applies to Cher in Clueless, and John McClane in Die Hard. And it’s fine for movies to have “teams” of characters fulfiling these roles; in Charlie’s Angels, Dylan, Natalie and Alex are each Hero, Main Character and Protagonist.

However, in some stories, the Hero, the Protagonist and the Main Character are not all the same person. One very current example is Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

There’s no question that Charlie’s the Hero. You want to see him win that Golden Ticket, and for only good things to happen to him. Likewise, he’s also the Main Character — though Wonka’s a close second. While Charlie recedes into the background a bit during the factory tour, he’s still the main focus of the movie’s storytelling energies. When the Narrator talks, it’s mostly to fill in details about Charlie.

However, Charlie is not a classic Protagonist. Charlie doesn’t grow or change over the course of the story. He doesn’t need to. He starts out a really nice kid, and ends up a really nice kid.

In terms of Classical Dramatic Structure, that leaves us one Protagonist short, which leads to the biggest change in the screenplay versus the book (or the 1971 film). In our movie, Willy Wonka is the protagonist. He grows and changes. We see his rise and fall, along with his nervous breakdown during the tour. Charlie’s the one who’s always asking — ever so politely, in the Freddie Highmore Whisper(TM) — the questions that lead to Wonka’s flashbacks upon his rotten childhood. (In Classic Dramatic terms, that makes Charlie an Antagonist. Not to be confused with a Villain. Are you sure you don’t want to read about some [squirrels](http://www.squirrels.org/raising.html)?)

As I pitched it to Tim: Charlie gets a factory, and Willy Wonka gets a family. It’s the whole want-versus-need thing. Charlie doesn’t need a factory. Wonka really needs a family. Otherwise, he’s going to die a giggling misanthropic weirdo.

Assigning labels

Playing “spot the protagonist” can be a good intellectual exercise — up to a point. As I started writing Charlie, asking “Who’s the protagonist?” led to some important decisions about the storytelling. But trying to pin firm labels on the characters in Go or Pirates of the Caribbean would only prove frustrating.

If a story works, it works — regardless of whether characters are fulfilling their archetypal roles. So be wary of trying to wedge characters into defined classes, simply because that’s how they “should” fit.