One of my journalism professors in college had a fondness for pop quizzes involving the composition of spontaneous news stories. From start to finish, we had exactly 10 minutes to come up with something that was both credible and entertaining. “Always go with your first instinct,” he advised. “It will usually be your best lead.” The students who ignored this, of course, were always the ones wearing deer-in-the-headlights panic at 9-1/2 minutes because they were convinced their first thought wasn’t good enough for development.
The same practice applies to deciding what genre best fits your idea for a movie. Take into account what your reaction was when the idea first came to you. Was it an incident that made you double up with laughter? Was it a headline that made you gasp in shock and want to hug your children? Was it a dark and stormy night that made you steal uneasy glances over your shoulder? Whatever your reaction is/was to the event that gave you inspiration should be your first choice. That’s not to say you can’t change your mind as the storyline develops, but it gives you a starting point.
What’s that you say? Your plot involves Wild West era lovers who time-travel to Pluto and get involved in a musical-comedy-paranormal-murder investigation?
Unfortunately, Hollywood doesn’t recognize the western/romance/sci-fi/musical/comedy/thriller category as a viable market. While it’s certainly true that a number of movies incorporate elements of multiple genres, they are generally compartmentalized as one of the following for the convenience of industry PR, screenwriting competitions, and, of course, retailers who need to know where exactly to place them on the shelves and in the video catalogues:
Comedy
Drama
Action
Horror
Romance
Romantic Comedy
Spoof/Satire
Historical/Biographical
Science Fiction
Time Travel
Thriller/Suspense
Western
Fantasy/Supernatural
Musical
Mystery
Film Noir
The choice of genre has a direct bearing on the character development, the language used, the number of locations, and the overall pace of the script. So, too, does the projected length of the story. Is it essentially a one-joke scenario that can be conveyed in a 10-30 minute short? Or is it a multi-layered plot that needs a full two hours?
As a recent example, I was in the grocery store one afternoon when I overheard a young man panic to his buddy that he had just spied an ex-girlfriend at the check stand just two lines over. He clearly didn’t want to be seen by her. Was he upset because (1) he didn’t want to provoke an emotional scene, (2) he was embarrassed by his sloppy appearance, (3) he had broken up with her on the false premise that his company was transferring him overseas, or (4) he was in the witness protection program and she was the reason why?
A humorous re-enactment of this situation would result in a completely different “feel” than a dark one whereby this chance encounter could unleash a chain of violence involving innocent bystanders. The genre choice would then influence whether the material could be contained within the boundaries of a snappy comedy sketch or require a more lengthy and detailed exposition of the ex-couple’s relationship utilizing flashbacks.
Given my long-standing affinity for the funny, I opted for a 20-minute stage comedy entitled Reversals Of Fortune (Plays, Inc., Publishers). In this version, the young man was a bag-boy whose former love had dumped him in favor of the wealthy employer for whom they both worked. His discomfiture at being seen in such a lowly job is assuaged when he discovers that not only did she get subsequently dumped and lose her job but is now paying for her purchases with food stamps.
LAST BUT NOT LEAST, FOR WHOM, EXACTLY, ARE YOU WRITING THIS?
To whom do you think your movie idea would most appeal? Teenage boys? Middle-aged women? Families? Senior citizens? In order for your film to tug at all the right emotional chords, it helps to understand what issues are on the front burner for your target viewers.
With teens, for instance, angst and identity are tied in to plots about coming of age, breaking rules, and spreading wings. Middle-aged women are a core market for romance, whether it relates to finding a new one or surviving the break-up of an old one.
Families are drawn to films that not only bring all of them together for a night out but espouse values and morality benchmarks that will continue to keep alive a deep and abiding respect for each other, long after the show itself is over. Older moviegoers are drawn to films that celebrate the best of the past, reinforcing a clarity of purpose and integrity they deem to be darkly elusive in the present. Themes of reunion and redemption are also especially strong.
Most of all, examine the kind of films that you, as a film fan, personally enjoy watching. For writing isn’t just an exercise in writing about what you know; it’s also in writing about what you really like!
GETTING STARTED
Buy yourself an idea book for recording potential plots, character sketches, and, yes, even titles and snippets of dialogue. It can either be a blank journal, a spiral bound tablet, or even a mini-notebook that you can tuck into your purse, briefcase, or glove compartment. The main thing is that it be easily accessible for you to jot down your thoughts before they get away!
For each idea you come up with, make a brief notation of the following:
Source. If it was derived from something already existing (i.e., a book, a newspaper item, an interview), you’ll need to explore the legalities of optioning or adapting the material to fit your particular inspiration. If it was a completely original thought, keep in mind how hard it is to maintain enthusiasm and momentum for a project once the initial euphoria wears off. By being able to remind yourself of what you were doing when the thought first struck, you can reinvigorate yourself to keep working on it and see it through to completion.
Message. What does your idea have to say about the human condition, the fickleness of fate, the cyclical nature of history, etc.? If you haven’t glanced at any books on proverbs lately, this could be a good time to do so. Proverbs are a helpful way to crystallize your concept and give you something to refer to whenever you feel as if you’re getting off track.
Theme. What motivates your characters? Is it reward, revenge, escape, or a combination of the three? If they’re not motivated by much of anything, you probably also don’t have much of a story, either.
Best Genre for this story. While you’re at it, list two other possible genres, as well. Down the road, when you’ve written yourself into a mental cul-de-sac, this could come in handy.
Target Audience. Who, besides your immediate family and friends, would find this story as compelling as you do? Why?
CHAPTER 2: STAGE, PAGE OR CINEMA?
We generally don’t think of the bigger-than-life canvas of moviemaking as having any limitations whatsoever when, in fact, it really does. Knowledge of what a film can and can’t accomplish within its parameters and bank account is what could spell the difference between exploring and successfully selling your concept to another medium or accruing a string of rejections by keeping it “as is.”
As you read through this chapter, try to imagine which elements have the most bearing on your film idea(s) as well as what degree of intimacy and lasting memory you would like to create with the audience for which each plot is written.
THE ELEMENT OF TIME
To begin with, you have two hours (or less) of screen-time to tell your entire story to a captive audience. Unlike a theater script, which also runs about two hours, the story is delivered straight through without any intermissions. Unlike playwrights, whose medium provides a printed program for the audience in order to clue it in on relationships and time/space transitions, screenwriters need to impart these same details through dialogue, title cards, physical changes in character appearance, and cinematography (i.e., dissolves, dream sequences, split screens, etc.).
Because of the relatively short timeframe of b
oth films and stage plays, there isn’t a lot of room for pleasantly meandering backstory and leisurely exposition. We are, instead, the vicarious witnesses to an inciting incident or interaction which will impact the main characters’ lives in ways which they had not anticipated. We all know that they were doing something prior to FADE IN and AT RISE but our primary concern is (1) what are they all doing as of right now and (2) why we should care about its outcome.
Contrast the physical pacing of these mediums to a novel, the average length of which is 350 pages. Unlike movies and plays, the duration it takes to absorb a book’s message is completely removed from the author’s control, depending on the consumers’ reading skills, interest level in the subject matter, and availability of free time.
Since the written word can also cover more historical, geographical, physical, emotional and spiritual ground than either a movie or play, novelists have more freedom to incorporate subplots, juxtapose personal commentary, or — ala Michener — start the story out with pterodactyls and gradually introduce humans around page 605.
SELF-TEST
Do you feel that you can comfortably tell your entire story in two hours or less?
If not, what elements in this story would require a longer timeframe to convey?
Are these elements essential to the audience’s understanding of the storyline and character motivations? If so, what other components of the story would you be willing to delete in order to keep those in?
Which of the three mediums — movies, plays or books — do you personally enjoy the most? Why?
LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
Movies and books share the advantage of not only being able to travel forwards and backwards but globe-trot faster than the Concorde. In one scene or chapter, we’re dining on the Riviera; in the very next, we can be wielding machetes in the jungles of Bolivia. Books, of course, have an economic edge in that regard; specifically, it costs exactly the same to print a page that transpires in 17th century Austria as it does to print one that all takes place in your grandmother’s attic.
For that reason, a book publisher probably will be more amenable to buying your multi-location tome than a producer will be to opening his or her wallet for a newcomer’s screenplay that utilizes an equal number of locales. On a more insular level, producers look critically at how many times the camera is moved just within the context of one primary location; i.e., a house, a school, an office building.
While film is a visual medium that needs to keep our attention riveted on the screen, to flip your characters from one backdrop to another without any real reason for doing so will not only add to the production budget but add to the amount of set up and strike down time involved in moving the cameras, lights, sound systems, etc.
Stage plays are even more difficult — though not impossible — when it comes to accommodating multiple locations. One of its built-in advantages, of course, is that the spectators are already aware that their imaginations will be called upon to fill in the level of detail that the physical staging area precludes from actually being constructed for them.
We can simply tell them that a given scene is taking place in the dungeon of a Scottish castle and they will believe it without our having to erect the entire castle above it, bring livestock into the courtyard, or even fill a murky moat. We don’t even need to show archers on the parapets to suggest that this realm is well protected, for it can be conveyed with as little as a single line of dialogue exchanged between the characters.
Although extravagant Broadway productions have hydraulic lifts, turntables, holograms, and all manner of techno-toys at their disposal to convey multiple venues and dimensions of time, it’s nonetheless amazing what even the most modest community theater can do with lighting, platforms, blackouts, and minimalist set design.
SELF-TEST
How many locations do you need to effectively convey your film idea?
How many of them require specific representation (i.e., downtown San Francisco)?
How many of them could go the generic route (i.e., large city)?
How many of them are completely incidental to what is being communicated by the actors through dialogue and action?
Is each location appropriate to the mood and pace you want to convey?
How many of your locations are cliché? (i.e., characters being introspective on airplanes; mother/daughter confrontations in the kitchen.)
DEGREE OF INTIMACY
It’s hard to feel really in touch with movie characters when you’re staring up at 15 foot high faces and listening to them speak to each other in Surround-Sound. Likewise, the media hype and saturation never let us stray very far from the fact that the names of the actors and actresses are what we are programmed to remember more so than the names of any of the characters they happen to be playing.
What this translates to in terms of intimacy is a transitory moment whereby the suspension of belief centers more on how the role is acted rather than how the plot is intended to affect us on an interpersonal level. By the time it takes us to warm up to Meryl Streep’s latest accent or believe in Brendon Frasier as an Indiana Jones-style adventurer (The Mummy), we’re already a quarter or more of the way into the story.
Contrast this to books that instantly engage us by allowing us to do our own casting or stage plays which invite us to relate to characters who are relatively our same size and not over-amped by microphones and speakers. The challenge to writers in either of these two mediums is the creation of personas whose consistency can withstand the test of time and whose psychological makeup is open to the demands of diverse interpretations.
The performance nature of plays, for instance, requires tightly drawn characters whose presence is capable of absorbing and superseding the identity of the actors themselves, no matter how famous their reputations. I’m reminded of having had the privilege of seeing Richard Burton in one of his last performances of Camelot. Hard an act as this compelling man would be to follow, it is the essence of vulnerability captured in the character of Arthur, himself, as a young husband, friend, and king that leaves the door open for successive actors to play the same role and not be judged as lesser.
These differences will be important to keep in mind when you start developing your ideas. The more emotional connectivity you would like to establish between your characters and a prospective audience, the more intimate their introductory delivery platform needs to be.
Genre plots, in which the central conflict derives from an external base, generally lend themselves well to film, while internal, character-driven conflicts yield more audience connection in print and on-stage, owing to more personal frames of reference and the time to process information at higher levels of abstraction.
SELF-TEST
Is your central conflict primarily driven by external or internal forces?
Is it more important to you that your main characters be remembered for themselves or for the celebrities who portrayed them?
THE ROAR OF THE CROWD
If your movie idea calls for swarms of humanity, films and novels are your best bet for containing them. Again, of course, you’re looking at escalating budget concerns the higher the number of bodies you need to evoke the requisite realism for your epic.
Books, of course, can manage this challenge quite easily. Bring on the Cavalry! Bring on the Huns! Bring on the hordes of after-Thanksgiving Day shoppers! On paper, you can have as big a stampede as you want and it won’t cost you a penny extra.
Movies are dealing more and more with crowd management through the innovations of CGI (computer generated imagery), although they still need to pay salaries, buy meals, provide costumes, dressing rooms, and workers’ comp insurance for all of the real personas who comprise the cast and crew.
Also, you’d be surprised how many non-moving roles are portrayed nowadays by costumed mannequins. Take a close look, for instance, at the Santa Anita racetrack scenes in Seabiscuit and count how many of the spectators are actually plastic dummies
wearing hats. For movies in which stunt person costs are already exorbitant (i.e., Titanic), the problem is resolved with fabric dummies that can be temporarily tied to a pillar, post, or piece of furniture and break away easily as the air-borne result of an explosion, earthquake, ship-sinking, etc.
Could It Be a Movie Page 3
