By Michael Rogan

Editor, ScriptBully Inbox Magazine http://ScriptBully.com

Twitter/@ScriptBully

Facebook.com/ScriptBully

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“Listen Here, Pilgrim”

Want to know my favorite film industry joke?

Here goes:

Q: How many development execs does it take to change a light bulb?

A: One, but does it have to be a light bulb?

No matter how amazing and dynamic you think your screenplay is, some producer or

studio exec or valet or bicycle messenger is going to want to change it.

And destroy it. And tear it down. And build it back up again. (Probably in some form you

won't recognize.)

And that’s really the way it should be.

“Wax On, Wax Off”

Because screenplays are not literary works of art. (Read the script of any Michael Bay film

and that'll become abundantly clear.)

They are glorified blueprints. Wordy prototypes.

Rough sketches of a story intended to get investors to take notice of your start-up and

eventually transform those words you typed at your local Starbucks into something

transmitted onto 22-foot screens from Beijing to Baja.

And above-the-line talent (producers, directors, actors, etc.) invest in your "start-up" when:

1. They respond to your material emotionally.

2. They can "see" it as a movie.

But here's the cool part. All it takes is one investor, one connected person in the film biz

to "see" something in your little scrappy project to suddenly change your career, and your

frickin' life overnight.

What This eBook Promises to Do

We're not going to talk about screenplay format. Or why you should avoid montages like

the plague. (Even though I think you should.)

As a screenplay reader I would see all kinds of misdemeanors committed in the scripts I

read. (If I never see another script that starts off with CLOSE ON AN ALARM CLOCK

I'll be quite happy.)

But it was the cardinal sins I couldn’t forgive. The egregious errors that wouldn't let me

pass a marketable script up the ladder.

The things in your script that scream: "This is not a movie!"

I can't control whether story executive and producers will respond "emotionally" to your

script. (That depends on the tastes and neuroses of individuals who are as moody as a

teenager.)

But I can help make damn sure your script is as close to an actual movie as we can get it.

And doing that is often half the battle.

Kick-Ass Screenplay Secret No.1: Make the Hero of Your Story the Hero of Their Story

Oh, I know. You think your hero is your hero.

I mean, you've given them the best character description in your script and you've spent

months working on their finely-tuned backstory.

And you've given him or her a great name like Mack Tanner or Samantha Colsingame or

Brad Punchypants.

But unless you write--and we see--the story through their eyes, then your hero is not your

hero.

And somebody else in your script is

your hero.

Or worse yet...nobody in your script is

your hero.

This isn't just a mistake that rookies

make. I defy you to watch Star Wars

Episode 1: The Phantom Menace and

tell me WHO the main character is. (It

sure as hell ain't Qui-Gon

McGillacuddy.)

And though everyone in the world tells me over and over again how Paddy Chayefsky is

the greatest living writer in the world, every time I see Network I just yearn for some kind

of emotional connection to a single human being in that movie.

Somebody I can relate to.

Somebody whose eyes I can see the events of the movie through.

Somebody who is the frickin' HERO.

“You'll Never Find a More Wretched Hive of Scum and

Villainy”

Weird, interesting places--and if you're gonna write a 105-page screenplay you better make

sure there are some weird, interesting places--are SO much more FUN when we

experience them through a single, motivated character.

When Luke Skywalker goes to the weird cantina on Tatooine, we experience it

through his point-of-view.

When Andy Dufresne heads to prison in Shawshank Redemption we ARE that

wide-eyed new prisoner spending our first night in the slammer.

When Charlie Sheen's character gets off the transport plane in Platoon, we are that

greenhorn trying to "make it through" Vietnam.

So when our hero accomplishes something HUGE--(like blowing up the Death Star,

escaping from Shawshank, killing the Wicked Witch of the West, etc.)--we FEEL it.

And if some underpaid, overworked production

company intern tackling his fifth script of the day

FEELS it....then you can be damn sure some studio

exec or indie-prod will “consider” your script.

And getting your script "considered" is the flirting that

can often lead to marriage. (Or at least a six-week

fling.)

But you don't get an emotional buy-in from the audience, or the reader, or some coked-

out development executive, unless everything in your story is funneled through your hero.

And please, for the love of God, make sure they are not a "reactive hero."

Your hero:

Tells people what to do

Makes decisions

Steps on toes

Convinces the girl to go out with him

Takes on City Hall

Slays dragons

Steals the microfilm

Kills the shark

Gives up the girl so Victor Lazlow doesn't get sad

And it is the antagonist's job to stand in the way of the hero.

But if the hero just reacts to what's going on, and doesn't proactively charge toward a goal,

then no amount of creepy bad-guy scenes will help.

So whether you’re just starting to sketch out your comedy script’s backstory or you’re

knee-deep in the seventh rewrite of your techno-thriller, make sure EVERY SINGLE

SCENE is either about:

Your hero trying to achieve something

Or somebody standing in the way of your hero achieving that something

Leave the nuanced, multi-protagonist scripts for when you’ve sold your first spec and

you’re sipping Mai-Tai’s in Redondo Beach.

Action Step No.1: Make sure your hero is the "toll booth" of your story—everything, and I mean everything, goes through them.

Kick-Ass Screenplay Secret No.2: Make Page 12 of Your Script Page 1

Just so you know…this is almost entirely unavoidable.

Your first draft is gonna suck. It just is.

It'll be clunky and overbearing and long-winded and aimless and a big bag of shite.

And that's okay.

As long as you do something about it.

But one of the biggest blind spots screenwriters have in their writing is thinking they need

to “set up” their story.

Just tell your story. We'll figure it out as we go.

James Bond movies do this brilliantly. (Sometimes it’s the only thing they do brilliantly.)

We FADE IN on a

Russian military installation. Two brutish

soldiers guard a small shed.

An explosion ripples

behind them. What's happening?

At that moment, James

Bond comes in on a pair of skis shooting a .50 caliber

gun and holding a dry martini.

Do we need to know what's in the shed? Do we need to know why Bond is there?

Do we need to know anything except mean guys are guarding something important and

James Bond wants to get it?

No!

We'll figure it out. All you gotta do is let us.

“Help Me, Help You”

One producer I worked with used to rip out the first 10 pages of every script that was

submitted to his production office. First ten pages. Always. Then he would start reading.

His thesis being: Every writer can cut the first 10 pages. (Even the good ones.)

Try cutting your first couple of pages out. (Bonus points if you can go all the way to page

10 with your cut.)

You might be surprised at how it radically improves the pace of your script. (And saves

you money on your Kinko’s bill.)

Action Step No.2: Cut your first five pages. Then cut some more. If you dare…(Wha-ha-ha!)

Kick-Ass Screenplay Secret No.3: Take the Climax of Your Script…and Back it Up 20 Pages

So you’ve nailed down the amazing, no-holds barred, everything-goes, ultimate climactic

showdown of your script. (You know the part where the villain says to the hero: “You

know, Jack, we’re really not so different you and I…”)

And you just know in your heart your climax is so powerful it will:

Shock and amaze every human on the face of the Earth.

Cause men and women to throw themselves at you in uncontrollable desire.

Force agents and producers to assault each other with handmade weapons just to

get you on the phone.

And yet, I’d like you to take that awesome climax and move it back to the middle of Act II

and then FORCE yourself to create an even greater climax.

This ninja tactic does a few things:

Helps fill the cavernous emptiness that is Act II.

Keeps the audience really alert. (“Geez…there’s no way they can possibly go

anywhere from there. Oh…they just did!”)

Gives you the chance to completely change direction in your script. (This is a good

thing.)

Forces you to top yourself, to come up with an even stronger, better ending.

I know you don’t think you can do this. You can. Trust me.

All you’re really doing is taking your Act II Climax and moving it to the middle of Act II.

But most Act II Midpoints in the scripts I read are rather weak, and the march toward the

final climax feels very paint-by-numbers. (Okay: so we’ve killed the mentor; now the girl

gets kidnapped; Uh-oh, the best friend is the villain’s henchmen. Yawn.)

But if you shift the best stuff you have to the middle of Act II--and then top yourself with a

new climax--then everything about your story will feel faster, tighter and way more

entertaining.

And the reader/viewer will have no idea where you’re going. (Having that is screenplay

gold.)

Oh. You want examples. Well…

I think one of my favorites is Psycho. In the first half we think we are following Janet

Leigh in some hard-boiled film noir.

But Hitchcock does an amazing thing. He literally switches genres in the middle of the

film, going from thriller to horror in a single, shower scene. (I’ll bet a big part of the shock

of that scene wasn’t just the staccato jump-cuts, but the fact that the “hero” of the movie

was killed mid-way through the film.)

So look through your own script and see where you can come up with the best climax you

can. Then move it back. And rinse and repeat.

Action Step No.3: Move your climax back. Then create another (better) climax. And focus all of Act II's energy toward the new climax.

Kick-Ass Screenplay Secret No.4: Make Your Subplots, Subplots

Subplots are tricky. And by tricky, I mean most writers don’t do them very well. (If they

do them at all.)

Either the subplots are boring and have

nothing to do with the main plot.

Or they are way more interesting than the

main plot, in which case you’ve got the

wrong story.

Best thing is, once you get the hang of them,

subplots can do all of the major heavy lifting

for your story. (And who doesn’t like

somebody else to do the lifting for them!)

"What's a Texas County Mounty Doing in Arkansas?"

So…what the heck is a subplot?

Well, it can be a romantic relationship for your main character.

(Rocky and Adrian are a subplot of Rocky; the main plot features him trying to get a title

fight.)

Or it can be a whole set of different characters that your main characters can bounce

things off.

(In When Harry Met Sally, it’s the other couple played by Carrie Fisher and Bruno Kirby

that serve as a subplot.)

Or it can be a whole line of action the main character embarks on that is not (seemingly)

related to your main plot.

(In Shawshank Redemption, Andy trying to set up the prison library would be a subplot.)

But notice how with the Shawshank example, that the library subplot eventually gets him

thrown into solitary. (And gives the main plot, of him trying to get out of Shawshank, a

serious turbo boost.)

And notice how the “other” couple in When Harry Met Sally acts as a sort of strange

funhouse mirror version of Harry and Sally.

This is good. This is awesome.

Subplots are like steroids for your main plot. (Me strong!) Just make sure they don’t leave

your main plot with ‘roid rage and man boobs.

So here are my top-3 tips when it comes to subplots:

Tip No.1: Have at Least One of Your Subplots Contradict the Theme of Your Story

In An Officer and a Gentleman the central question is: can you become a civilized

honorable, disciplined, and respected person or are you just a victim of your upbringing?

For Richard Gere and Debra Winger the answer is a positive one. (You can change; you

can “become” a gentleman.) For the “other best-friend” couple, where things end really

badly, the answer is no. (No matter what you do, you’re still low-class trash.) Having these

contradictory outcomes only heightens the power of the main plot.

Tip No.2: Have the Subplot Characters Articulate Your Theme

If you have to have a character “say” what the theme or central question is, and you

should tread carefully if you do, make sure it’s a subplot character. Do not, for the love of

God, have your main character do it. Please, oh please.

Best of all, have your villain express what the theme is. (“Oh, you see, Mr. Bond. The

trouble with you is you never get to know women well enough to recognize true love when

you see it.”)

Tip No.3: If a Subplot Doesn’t Reinforce or Contradict Your Central Question…Cut It

This one comes straight from Jeffery Katzenberg, when he worked at Disney developing

animated movies.

He would mandate that every subplot in the film had to echo or reject the central story. If

it doesn’t do either, it has to go. No questions asked.

There just isn’t enough time or audience patience to go around, for plots to compete for

attention. Stick to one central story, with connected subplots.

And you’ll not only create a more brisk story, but the audience will forget about where the

story is going, and just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Action Step No.4: Create 2-3 subplots for your story that all make some statement about the main plot. (Or rewrite your existing subplots so they are more related to your central

plot.)

Kick-Ass Screenplay Secret No.5: A Good Dilemma Cures Everything

At some point in the writing of a script you’ll hit a wall.

For me, it’s always about page 60.

The characters I thought were so fascinating thirty pages ago, the locations I adored, the

dialogue I admired, the act breaks I delighted in writing: all of it just feels so frickin’ boring

and pointless.

And the harder I try to add more plot devices or reveal more of my character’s inner

world, the more boring and pointless it all gets.

And it’s times like these when I remember what my old writing professor used to say: “An

ounce of dilemma is worth a pound of anything else.”

Meaning: anything you need accomplished in a script can usually be done by giving your

character a mean, cranky old dilemma that forces them to choose something really hard.

Notice the emphasis on “really hard.”

A dilemma between a pint of

Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate

Cookie Dough and a

Hazelnut Blizzard from Dairy

Queen will not do much for

your characters. (Unless doing

so would pose real

consequences to your

character’s well-being.)

But a choice between

betraying your country and

betraying your own

conscience on the battlefield would fit the bill.

Remember what the playwright David Mamet said: “A dilemma is not a choice between a

right and a wrong. It’s a choice between a wrong and a wrong.”

Does Indiana Jones go after the antidote to the poison in his body or the diamond he's

spent his whole life chasing?

Does Michael Corleone whack his brother Fredo or does he risk the safety and business

interests of his family?

Does Clarice Starling risk being humiliated and intimidated by Hannibal Lecter or does

she let Buffalo Bill continue to run free?

And they don’t have to be as epic and monumental as these. You can also use them at the

scene and sequence level.

Imagine your main character is a cop chasing a villain in a car chase across New York

City.

Does he sideswipe the luxury car parked on the side or does he go up on the curb and

possibly hit the homeless guy sleeping on the street?

Does he brake for the baby carriage that ends up in the middle of the street or does he

plow through it in the quest for law and order?

Does he shoot the villain when he has the chance or does he take him in with all legal

means necessary?

And here’s the awesome cool part. Notice how all of these dilemmas “say” something

about the character.

We don’t need a four-page monologue about the character describing his belief in justice

by any means necessary. (We can get that from him shooting an unarmed villain in the

back.)

So next time you find yourself in that awful nowhere land of your script--and you will-- just

remember to inject it with some serious dilemmas. (And you might just find your way

back to safety quicker than you thought.)

Action Step No.5: Make sure your story has a “somebody” who is forced to do the “last thing on Earth” they want to do. Over and over again.

Kick-Ass Screenplay Secret No.6: Make Sure Your Characters Feel Pain (and Lots of It) When They Express Themselves

Ever watch the Superfriends cartoon?

As an American child of the 70s, I never missed the opportunity to spend Saturday

mornings jacking myself up on high-fructose cereal.

And then in the throes of a sugar high, I would watch as Superman, Batman, Wonder

Woman and the rest of the DC universe battled the collection of arch-villains who called

the "Legion of Doom" home.

And as any fan will know, there always came a time in the show when a character had to

do something complicated.

Something important.

Something that required exposition.

And so you'd have Aquaman swim toward the Hoover Dam control center, in an attempt

to turn off the main reactor before Lex Luthor arrived. And Aquaman would utter:

"If only I can get to the Hoover Dam control center, and turn off the main reactor, before

Lex Luthor arrives."

Well, no shit, Aquaman. We can SEE what

you're doing.

We don't need to HEAR it as well.

And that's the problem with on-the-nose

dialogue. It expresses exactly what the

character thinks and feels.

And it's duller than a CSPAN marathon.

Suppose we have a scene like this:

JIM, 34, stumbles into his apartment. Turns on the light. JENNY, his girlfriend, sits in a chair. Seething. JENNY I'm so mad at you right now. (Sobs) This drinking has got to stop. Jim looks down. JIM I'm really sorry. Jenny walks out. I'd rather watch Speed Racer. Twice. Then have to read any more of that literal, surface

crap.

Suppose we change it up:

JIM, 34, stumbles into his apartment. Turns on the light. JENNY, his girlfriend, sits in a chair. Seething. JENNY I'm so mad at you right now. (smiles) This drinking has got to stop. Jim looks down. JIM I'm really-- Jenny walks up to him. Throws him onto the bed. Kisses his neck.

Now we're getting somewhere.

And it's not just about sex. It's about making sure there's a disconnect between what

people are saying and what they're feeling or doing.

It's crack for moviegoers. (And it makes actors REALLY excited to perform your

material.)

So...how do you do this?

Well, lots of screenwriter gurus suggest you map out each scene with internal and external

motivations.

Then diagram wants and desires for every character in the scene so they intersect into a

finley-woven tapestry of organization and motivated behavior.

But I think there's a far simpler approach.

“I Coulda Been a Contender”

Just write the scene as if every character says exactly what they're feeling.

I mean it.

Write the biggest load of bollocks ever, where people just say what they feel at all times.

(Like an extended episode of The View.)

Have them talk about the “activity” that's happening in the scene. (Whether they're

ordering dinner; getting the car washed; shooting lasers at Stormtroopers.)

And then in the rewrite, just remove all that on-the-nose crap.

Not only will this exercise show you what your scene is about--a super helpful thing--but

now you can build in levels of deception, misdirection, and ambivalence into every piece

of dialogue. (If they know what they want, now have them talk about everything else but

that.)

Action Step No.6: Write your script the wrong way, where everybody is an open book, so you can rewrite it with nuance and intrigue.

Kick-Ass Screenplay Secret No.7: Don’t Worry, Be Productive

Screenwriting is not a sprint. It's not even a marathon.

It's like the Ford Ironman Triathlon in Kona, Hawaii, where the best athletes in the world

push themselves to the brink of physical and mental exhaustion with a 2.4-mile swim, 110-

mile bike ride, and to finish things off...

…a simple, 26.2-mile marathon to close things out.

And the winners are not the ones who are the most talented or physically capable--elite

triathletes tend to hit their peak in their early 40s--it's the ones who are still standing at the

end that win.

I have a friend who's a triathlon coach--throw a rock here in Southern California and you'll

hit ten of them.

I asked him once what the secret to training for a triathlon was. And he said: "Not to let

any single day define your training."

I love that.

Because it's exactly what us screenwriters need to

remember.

There are days you will suck. There are days you will

write the worst trash that ever existed in the universe.

There are days when you'll write maybe half a page

and you'll come away thinking your writing is so bad

there should be a law against your wooden dialogue

and boring characters.

And then there will be days when you'll feel like Justin

Bieber at the Glendale Mall. You'll feel like you can do no wrong and the entire world is

hopelessly in love with you.

That every word you write is perfect, succinct and emotionally compelling.

You'll announce to your loved ones what kind of car you'll buy them when you sell your

script. Because there's no way someone as good as you can be overlooked for long.

Truth is...neither is true. Or both are true.

Doesn't really matter.

What matters is you keep working.

This business is littered with great talent

who've optioned a script or two and then

found themselves manning the counter

at Blockbuster.

The secret is to just keep moving

forward. Because while the bipolar up-

and-down of being a writer may not kill

you, it will certainly kill your joy of

writing.

And writing, when it's good, is the best thing in the world.

So, chill out. Take your Xanax. Do some yoga. Kill some zombies on your Xbox.

And then get to work.

You may not write very good stuff today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day.

But if you keep writing, the universe will reward you with something amazing. A story

worth telling. And that can change the world. (Including your own.)

Good luck with your writing. And kick writer's block in the ass!

Michael Rogan http://ScriptBully.com

Twitter/@ScriptBully

Facebook.com/ScriptBully