John August

Search Results for: subplots

Does a working writer keep improving?

QandA, Story and Plot, Writing Process

questionmarkI am a reasonably successful screenwriter. A working writer. I’ve sold two pilots, gotten a freelance episode of a high-quality one-hour drama, done some comic book gigs, and just sold a feature with myself attached to direct at a production budget of $3M.

Not A-list, or B-list, but maybe C-minus working my way up. I’m in my early thirties and have been at this a couple years.

My problem/question is: I feel like I have hit a wall with respect to my sense of story. I feel like most of my success has been gotten on a combination of ability-to-pitch, charisma and the ability to turn a phrase _inside_ a scene. But I have this real weakness when it comes to knowing what the right scenes are in the right order. Story. Plot. I can put two people in a room and have them riff in a pleasing and entertaining way and to the extent that my story supports this kind of loose, Kevin Smith-esque writing, I do well.

But I know that if I want my career to go to the next level, I need to improve my understanding of story and plot.

So I guess I have two questions…

1) Any ideas on how to do this on an intermediate/advanced-level? How can I go from a “B” understanding of story/plot to an “A” understanding of story/plot?

and

2) What are your thoughts on how to keep making breakthroughs in the quality of your work when you are at an intermediate/advanced level? Do you feel like you are constantly improving? How do you keep improving?

— Scott
Los Angeles

You’re already the envy of most of the readers of this site: you’re a working Hollywood writer. So congratulations, and don’t dismiss what you’ve accomplished. I’m happy to hear you attribute it your skills (pitching, wit) and not pure dumb luck. ((Luck accounts for a small but not unimportant part of success in screenwriting, or any career. Being ready to be lucky, and what you do with that good fortune, is a big part of how a career goes. I was lucky to get into my film school — I honestly didn’t know how competitive it was. I was lucky that Tim Burton happened to be looking for a project when Spielberg dropped off of Big Fish. And, of course, I was lucky to be born in an upper-middle class family in Colorado.))

So let me offer some good news. The stuff you’re not especially good at — story, structure, plot — can actually be learned. If you were writing in for advice about how to be funnier or more charismatic, I would have probably let your email sit in the growing folder of unanswerable questions, because those are pretty much inherent qualities.

My advice for you is to dedicate one day a week to disassembling good movies. Take existing films (and one-hour dramas) and break them down to cards. Think of yourself as an ordinary mechanic given the task of reverse-engineering a spaceship. Figure out what the pieces do, and why they were put together in that way.

Here are the questions you need to ask about each scene or sequence:

* As the audience, what am I expecting will happen next?
* What does the character want to do next?
* Is this a good moment to let the character achieve something, or knock him back?
* How long has it been since we checked in with other character and subplots?
* What would have happened if this scene had been cut? Or moved?

By asking these questions about other people’s movies, you can take some of the pressure off.

When it comes to your scripts, it might be worth writing something that’s deliberately outside of your comfort zone, a script that doesn’t let you rest on your scenework. Because to answer your second question, yes, I think you can keep making breakthroughs in your writing, but only by challenging your preconceived limitations.

I’m currently writing my first period movie, my first stage play, and my first stage musical. Part of the reason I’m enjoying them is because they scare the be-Zeus out of me. I’ve passed on some more obvious projects that I’m sure I could have written competently simply to stretch a little more.

Yes, I’m deeper in my career than you are. And my flitting from genre to genre has probably hurt me in some respects. ((Despite Big Fish, I rarely get sent the “big books” that sell out of New York. And it’s hard for me to set up a pricey original, because I don’t have a long track record in a specific genre.)) But a career isn’t one script, or ten, it’s the years of your life. You’re working. Your ability to turn clever phrases won’t go away. So you’re right to focus on the areas you think you can improve, if only to increase your confidence and enjoyment of the career you’ve chosen.

Bringing a ringer for a pitch

Pitches, QandA

Would a producer frown on a writer bringing in a ringer to a pitch meeting?  I am the absolute WORST pitcher on the planet.  Could I bring in a friend of mine who is excellent at pitching to do the dirty work for me?  Is this even acceptable?

–Gary

Nope. Not unless your friend is going to be writing it with you.

Believe me, I recognize the fallacy of expecting a writer — whose principal talent is sitting alone in a room for hours on end — to suddenly be talkative and entertaining when pitching a project. Most writers, self included, would much rather toil away in happy isolation. But producers and studio execs want to hear from the writers themselves. So we put on our least-wrinkled clothes, practice what we’re going to say, and try not to make asses of ourselves in pitch meetings.

My standard advice for any pitch: Pretend you just saw the best movie ever, and you want to convince your friend (the producer) why she should see it. Try it with a few real movies and you’ll see that you naturally hop from high point to high point, and don’t dwell a lot on the underlying logic or subplots. That’s a pitch.

Genres and structures

Genres, QandA

Do you have a clear idea of the genre of the film before
you start to write? Do you write to a model, like the three-act structure?

–Lydia

Usually you have a pretty good idea what genre the movie is before you start
writing, at least in the broadest sense – a comedy, a thriller, an action movie.
And of course, within any category there are sub-genres. "Comedies" can
be romantic comedies, black comedies, action comedies, family comedies, spoofs
and so forth. You could spend a weekend listing all the different sub-genres
and still find movies that don’t fit into any.

More important than knowing where to put the video at Blockbuster is figuring
what approach you’ll be taking, and that’s where the real work comes in. For
instance, CHARLIE’S ANGELS is an action comedy, so logically it should do some
of the same things as LETHAL WEAPON or RUSH HOUR. But from its inception,
there were always going to be things about CHARLIE’S ANGELS that would be unique
and difficult.

First, the characters. The movie has three heroines who need roughly equal
screen time, each with their own subplots and love interests. Bosley needs
enough to do so that an actor will want to play it, but not so much that it
takes away from the Angels. And then there’s Charlie himself. He’s the disembodied
voice on a speakerphone box, yet we need to believe he’s a real person.

Second, the tone. Trying to escape the cheesiness of the TV show, early drafts
of the script played the world very cold and high-tech, almost like a MISSION:IMPOSSIBLE
movie. While we wanted the Angels to be super-competent when they were in danger
mode,
we needed them to be huggable when they were off-duty.
They needed to be like your best friends: rowdy, caring, impetuous and fun.
Also, we wanted the movie to be a love letter to Los Angeles: the sun is always
shining, colors are hot, and everyone looks great.

Finally, the action. Early on, we agreed the Angels wouldn’t carry guns. The
decision was less because of the social message than the action possibilities.
Gun fights are about people hiding behind things; we wanted the Angels punching
and kicking. We ended up hiring the fight team behind THE MATRIX to train the
actors in martial arts, and I can’t imagine the movie any other way.

Notice that all of these decisions were made BEFORE we started talking about
plot or structure. That was the right choice, because it meant we could develop
a storyline that would fit the movie we wanted to make, rather than dress-up
a pre-existing plot with details from our movie.

The actual outline we used for the movie was simply a list of 20 sequences.
It was less than half a page. But it took months to get there. During production,
some of the sequences changed for budget, schedule or location reasons, but
the underlying spine remained exactly the same.