by Jim Mercurio
Similarly, sci-fi movies will address the rules of a future reality (Blade Runner, Gattaca, Get Out) and sometimes the ways its laws of physics deviate from those of the real world (Inception, Back to the Future). Star Wars uses a long scrawl that begins, “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away,” RoboCop begins with a TV commercial that establishes culture and technology in the future setting, and how could you tell the story of Escape from New York without establishing its premise over the opening:
The Crime Rate in the United States Rises Four Hundred Percent.
Manhattan Island.
The once-great city of New York becomes the one maximum-security prison for the entire country.
Which elements or conceits you need will vary between movies and genres. Depending on the story, genre, or your unique spin on them, not all elements of the concept will be weighted equally.
You can live without deep and realistic characters for the scientists in Godzilla (2014), but how you do you approach Harold and Maude, Schindler’s List, or Citizen Kane without a more profound attention to character?
A quick summation of a European classic or American art film often incorporates theme. Almost any description of Crash (2004) or Do the Right Thing would require a mention of race. The official summary of the movie Babel involves a mention of communication, language, or a sense of unifying people around the world: “An interlocking story involving four different families.”
Concept at the Scene Level
The ultimate test for whether your script has a clearly defined concept and scenes that effectively exploit that concept is to ask the question, “Is your script smashable?” Smashable is a term from design and branding that describes something that is immediately recognized from any subsection. For instance, if you crush a Diet Coke can, it will still be readily identifiable for what it is.
If scenes effectively exploit a well-defined concept, then a short glance of almost any piece of the film will lead back to the concept. If a viewer walks into the theater or turns on the TV at any given point in that story beyond the inciting incident, he should understand the movie’s premise almost instantly.
How many seconds do we have to watch Freaky Friday to realize that the mother and daughter switched psyches? With Memento, if you see the transition from any sequence to the next, you will immediately know that the story is being told backward. A nominal amount of time later, you will recognize that Leonard (Guy Pearce) has a problem with long-term memory.
When a scene eschews a connection to the tenets of the clearly defined concept, it will struggle to be special. If it does not exploit the concept’s unique elements, it becomes generic.
Consider the sci-fi comedy Land of the Lost, whose essential concept elements include: time travel, dinosaurs, wacky science and scientists, and, of course, the lizardly villainous Sleestacks. Given this premise and concept, why and how does the scene in which the main characters and a monkey get stoned by the pool belong in the film? Even if it’s the funniest thing ever, it doesn’t belong in this movie. Concept-wise, it’s a non sequitur.
If you walk into a theater in the middle of the “getting high by the pool” scene and try to surmise the concept, your best guess would be: “A trippy comedy about stoner-dude slackers, stuck in the Mesozoic era, who, when they trip out, develop inappropriate affections for bipedal members of the animal kingdom.” The movie is not smashable.
In the comedy Blades of Glory, archrivals Chazz (Will Ferrell) and Jimmy (Jon Heder) are banned for life from men’s singles figure skating but find a loophole in the rules that allow them to compete in the doubles category at the world championships as the first-ever all-male team.
The film draws inspiration for its scenes and humor from the rules and subculture of competitive skating, a key tenet of the concept. Consider these moments from the movie:
1. Boy teased by hockey players for participating in “female” sport of figure skating.
2. Skater incorporates “FU” gesture into skating routine.
3. Skater wears comically tight spandex with gold lamé.
4. Pro skaters Dick Button and Scott Hamilton cameo played for comedy.
5. Jimmy wants approval from his father regarding his skating.
6. Jokes that mock the music played during routines.
7. Brother-sister team: sets up weird sexual jealousy.
8. Chase on the ice involves slipping and falling.
9. Fight scene where the podium is an obstacle.
10. Awards ceremony flag becomes a prop in a fight.
11. Skating commissioner strips their gold medals and bans them from skating.
What might come as a surprise is that all of these moments happen within the first twelve pages, and the script continues to cleverly exploit its concept. No one is going to call Blades of Glory a cinematic masterpiece, but its adroitness comes from fully exhausting the possibilities inherently present from its setup.
The skill to create and write within a clearly defined concept requires cleverness, but don’t confuse that with shallowness or any pejorative notion of being “too Hollywood.” Developing this skill is essential to your growth as a writer.
The power in Charlie Kaufman’s scripts such as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Adaptation, and Being John Malkovich are more than the amazing concepts themselves. The real magic comes from his ability to adhere to the wild concepts he creates. Essentially, it’s all about execution. The same alchemy of craft expresses itself in movies such as Annie Hall, Birdman, Shakespeare in Love, Amadeus, Forrest Gump, and A Beautiful Mind—all Oscar Winners for Best Picture.
Novel Expression
Characters in high-concept movies experience the same emotions as characters in stuffy, Oscar-bait dramas. Chazz and Jimmy in Blades of Glory have feelings and desires such as embarrassment and the need for approval, but their expression aligns with the film’s over-the-top, melodramatic tone and concept.
As love stories, Casablanca, Her, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind will necessarily have several broad beats that mirror one another, but they take generic situations and make them unique by filtering them through the concept.
Her is an exciting movie because Spike Jonze exploits the simple premise of a man falling in love with operating system for all that it’s worth. In any relationship movie, we expect to see an argument about a seemingly banal topic, such as how to fold towels or how one lover slurps soup. Through subtext and importance, we recognize that there are bigger issues in the relationship. Her puts a concept-dependent spin on this generic convention: Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) becomes angry because Samantha (Scarlett Johansson) makes a sound to simulate breathing.
When Theodore’s soon-to-be ex-wife, Catherine (Rooney Mara), criticizes the new relationship, it’s on point: she disparages Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) for being in love with an operating system, calling it an escape from reality and true emotion.
Consider the moment when a lover breaks off a relationship. In Her, when Samantha tells Theodore that she has moved on, her reason incorporates concept and creates a unique take. Capable of multitasking or multiprocessing, Samantha reveals she is in love with 641 other people.
Compare this to a corresponding moment from the film 500 Days of Summer in which a hopeless romantic, Tom (Joseph Gordon Levitt) falls in love with a woman named Summer (Zooey Deschanel), who claims not to believe in love and the magic of fate and destiny.
Their final goodbye incorporates a bit of theme and an ironic character arc. In the continuation of a moment that opened the film, they meet on a park bench and she has a wedding ring on her finger. She has married someone else. Tom has hit his rock bottom and now mocks everything good he used to believe:
TOM
Destiny, soulmates, true love. All that stuff. It’s nothing more than silly childhood fairy tale nonsense, isn’t it? God!
(The irony is that Summer has fallen in love and now believes in destiny, as she proves by couching the meeting of her fiancé
in terms of fate. It culminates in a back-handed compliment.)
SUMMER
Tom, it was meant to be, just like you said. And as it was happening, I knew it. I could feel it, sure as the sun. And I kept thinking to myself “Holy shit. Tom was right.” You were right about all of it.
(beat)
(Wait for it… theme, irony, growth, concept, and oblivious cruelty all wrapped up in one succinct sentence.)
It just wasn’t me you were right about.
Memento elegantly turns clichéd situations into memorable ones by exploiting the concept that its protagonist has only short-term memory:
• Getting ripped off by a sleazy hotel clerk—Rents him a second room because he forgets he has already rented one.
• Hiring a prostitute—Not for sex, but to stage and re-create the night that his wife was killed as an attempt to jog his memory.
• Chase scene—Mid-pursuit, Leonard forgets who is chasing whom and begins to chase the guy who is actually chasing him.
• Femme fatale betrays him—She removes all pens and pencils from the room, which makes it impossible for him to document the details of the deceptive plan she has just shared with him.
Not only will interesting complications emanate from the concept, but so will dialogue. Here’s a great scene from the remake of Freaky Friday in which every line is attuned to the concept.
Scene Analysis:
Freaky Friday
The remake of Freaky Friday, much more than the original, has several scenes that do a fantastic job of exploiting its concept. In this scene, the mother, Dr. Tess Coleman (Jamie Lee Curtis), and Tess’s fiancé, Ryan (Mark Harmon), drive daughter Anna Coleman (Lindsay Lohan), along with Anna’s younger brother, to school.
The scene advances the story, complicates the situation, and foreshadows. But more importantly, notice how EVERY conflict and EVERY line of dialogue incorporates the premise of the switched psyches for its meaning and humor. Because the scene is based on the visual incongruity of seeing a person act as if inhabited by a different psyche, read the scene slowly and visualize what you are seeing.
When we see the Daughter, we are looking at the teenager who is inhabited/possessed by her mother’s psyche. When we see the Mother, we are looking at the approximately forty-year-old character who is possessed by the teenager’s psyche. Here is a transcript of the dialogue and a description of the scene:
INT. CAR - DAY
MOTHER (daughter’s psyche) is in the front seat with her feet on the dashboard. She battles for control of the radio station with the mother’s FIANCE. The DAUGHTER (mother’s psyche) is in the back seat with her younger brother, HARRY.
DAUGHTER (MOTHER’S PSYCHE)
(to mother)
Feet down.
(to Harry)
Harry, could you settle down?
SON
Bite me!
MOTHER (DAUGHTER’S PSYCHE)
See? Do you see what he does behind your back?
DAUGHTER
Anna!
(The very first two lines set up the premise for the entire scene. All of the lines in the scene rely on the contrast between the one who seems to be saying them and the one actually saying them.)
MOTHER
Mom! Excuse me. And while I’m apologizing let me just say to the whole car how truly sorry I am for being such an insane control freak all the time.
DAUGHTER
You’re not controlling, Mom. I’m the one who should be apologizing for my flagrant disregard for anyone’s feelings but my own.
MOTHER
Well, at least you have a great sense of style. Not like me.
(The characters both seemingly mock themselves. Without the body-switching conceit, these last three lines would be awful, on-the-nose exposition since there is no apparent motive for them to express these ideas. However, the concept justifies this unique way to attack each other in the guise of self-criticism or self-confession.)
DAUGHTER
Enough.
Mother looks at “her” credit cards.
MOTHER
Platinum, cool.
DAUGHTER
Don’t even think about it.
(Foreshadows potential conflict and augurs the following day-in-the-life sequence. The financial and personal threat to the mother’s identity comes from the daughter’s personality inhabiting the mother’s body.)
FIANCE
Am I supposed to follow this?
(We can’t just force the concept down the audience’s throat by ignoring how the situation must appear to characters in the story. Although the fiancé plays the comedic “straight man” with a neutral line, the dramatic irony—the fact that the audience knows more than he does—is amusing. This innocent line also contributes to an abrupt reversal.)
MOTHER
It’s nothing… darling.
(Without “darling” the line is functional, but with it, it becomes stellar. Instead of a light “blowing off” or “dismissing the fiancé,” the beat becomes “flirting” or “declaring war.” The addition of a single word creates a seismic shift. It drastically escalates the conflict and fulfills an advanced criterion of dialogue: adhering to concept. By playing with fire, the ensuing sharp reversal comes with a sense of comeuppance, just deserts, as the daughter’s psyche [in the mother’s body] ironically gets what she “asked” for:)
He grabs Mother’s hand. She gets nervous. From the backseat, the daughter gives her a look to encourage her to play along.
FIANCE
One more day.
MOTHER
Yeah, it’s great we’re getting married, isn’t it? Even though my husband died. How quickly I’ve been able to get over it.
(The daughter’s psyche wins back the moment with her sarcastic attack that resonates with legitimate dramatic importance. The character’s ability to air her grievances this way and the resulting humor are both dependent on the body-switching premise.)
In a mother-daughter drama such as Terms of Endearment, you might be able to rely solely on the nature of the mother-daughter conflict, but here, once they have switched bodies, you don’t put them in the backseat of a bus to Akron and have them bicker back and forth. If you don’t draw from the primary elements of the concept for a scene or situation, you are wasting am opportunity to capitalize on what’s uniquely special about your story.
Concept Logline:
Limits of Limitations
Once you have a thorough understanding of your concept, you can evaluate whether scenes and ideas are appropriate for your story.
You would not introduce a gun into Sex, Lies, and Videotape, Scenes from a Marriage, or Juno to solve a story problem, because it would violate the genre and concept. Inspired storytelling comes from exploring ways to solve your story problems from within its limits.
Two movies with similar concepts are Limitless and Lucy. In the former, a drug gives its users supernatural thinking, strategy, and problem-solving ability, yet the story is set in the real world as we know it. In Lucy, the premise is that Lucy (Scarlett Johansson) gradually learns to use more and more of her brain, including the ability to control gravity, time, space, and reality itself.
A great scene in Limitless involves the protagonist, Eddie (Bradley Cooper), locked in an apartment with killers who are after him. Not only has the drug worn off and put him in a withdrawal in which he functions below normal, the villains themselves are under the influence of the wonder drug. After Eddie kills one of the bad guys, he licks up his blood pooling on the floor to regain the benefits of the drug as well as the upper hand.
The imagery works on so many levels—thematic touches of vampirism, the metaphor of addiction, and plain old creepiness—but more importantly, the screenwriter, Leslie Dixon (known for her deft handling of high-concept films such as Coyote Ugly, Freaky Friday, and the remake of The Thomas Crown Affair), cleverly solves the protagonist’s problem within an aspect of the movie’s concept. In Lucy, the character could solve a si
milar problem with literally any imaginable action. Ironically, the advantage in Limitless is that its concept has limits.
While a logline is a catchy one- to two-sentence description of a script or story idea for purposes of pitching or marketing, your concept logline is a concise, complete, and compact description that focuses exclusively on the story’s concept. It is an elaboration of the preeminent elements that will be the source of inspiration for the majority of your major surprises and expressions of character. Essentially, it is the collection of individual premises that you use to tell your story. It’s a great tool to evaluate your concept and make sure it can sustain an entire feature screenplay.
Completeness
An essential challenge in defining your concept is achieving the right balance between the two contrary ideas of compactness and completeness. Narrow the tenets of the concept to those that are both sufficient and necessary to tell the story while shedding tenets that might be interesting but unnecessary. But if you don’t completely establish the overriding tenets of the concept, you can end up with too many non sequitur or generic scenes that are untethered to it.
Let’s experiment with a concept logline for Liar Liar to see if we can capture all of the tenets to solve the story challenges and see why adding a few extraneous ideas can create problems.
Consider this first attempt at a concept logline:
A lying lawyer has to prove to his son that he really does love him.
The concept fails to include the hook, the creative obstructions, and overriding limitation that makes the story unique—that he cannot tell a lie. A scene that ignores the “curse” will necessarily be at a disadvantage compared to a scene that cleverly incorporates it. For instance, this underdeveloped draft of the concept might allow underwhelming melodramatic moments such as a straightforward therapy session with Fletcher and his son.
