by Blake Snyder
This is not the theater where the writer's power is supreme; this is not even publishing, where you own the copyright. This is da movies. And in some cases, you are now a hired gun assigned to kill someone you love very much: you. Dan has great advice:
Don't be defensive. I know you've worked months on every word and scene, but the meeting with the producers has to be open-minded about the project as a whole. This is tough, but if you are defending every note, not only will it wear the producers down and make them more reluctant to be even more direct about their feelings, but you won't get a clear picture of their thoughts.
And that is really the job!
But I do have some good news: The more you do this, the easier it becomes — especially after you learn to be open to suggestions. I often think about something that happened years ago with a pair of writers I worked with. Now a successful team, at the time they were young and still finding their stride. On this particular project, we had to deal with several rounds of notes from producers and the team's attitude was unreceptive. The producers were afraid the writers weren't up to the task, and because I was the intermediary, it was my duty to lower the boom. I felt it was not only a defining moment in the project, but in their careers, and told them so, yet had little confidence they heard me.
But at the next meeting, it was like a switch was flipped. The producers’ notes were comprehensive, yet the duo didn't hesitate. They went into the rewrite with gusto, and projected the attitude they could be back tomorrow, throw that script out, and start over with even better stuff. The project survived, but more important, I'll always think of it as the moment they turned pro.
To quote Dan:
Don't be afraid to try sweeping changes. You've always got the first draft to fall back on if the second turns out to be too extreme. I can't tell you how many times I've received a second draft where the writer goes on and on about all the changes that were made, only to find that minimal things were done — a few scenes moved around, a character's name changed, what-ever. Again, don't be afraid to rewrite stuff, or at least explore big dramatic changes. At least for a day or two.
And I couldn't agree more.
You've heard “writing is rewriting”? Ha! This is child's play compared to the true “reeee-eee-writing” we are often called on to perform as screenwriters at the behest of those we've been hired by. And the pros, the winners, the A-listers… don't whine. They just do it. The shooting script for Little Miss Sunshine was number 100 according to its author, Michael Arndt. Even in my own experience with Blank Check, a movie Colby Carr and I wrote in March of 1993 and was out in theaters by February 1994 (under a year), we had 20 to 30 drafts to get it into shape by first day of shooting, including working through drafts from other writers who had been hired (unbeknownst to us) by the studio. And yet we kept managing to put it back right — and kept improving it, too.
Point is, let go. Get over yourself. You'll always have Paris and that first draft, but if you want to get into production, you have to let those who are responsible for the finances see all the extrapolations of your story they want to. They want the “hero-is-a-teenager” draft when, in fact, the hero in your script is 30 years old? You will try like hell to talk them out of it. But “at the end of the day,” it's their dime. To quote Jeremy on this subject:
Know what fights to fight and when to lay down. If you're 100% sure you are right, fight the fight. If not, then try with your best efforts and who knows, maybe the guy is a big-time producer because he's not such an idiot after all. I've been certain that I was correct about something until I tried it differently and it was better!
INTERPOLATING NOTES
Weaving your way through the rewrite process is about hearing notes and delivering script improvements to the best of your ability. Often this involves “interpolating” to get to the “real note,” which can drive writers batty. Yet we must abide.
Once, Colby Carr and I got the feedback that we should make our script “25% funnier.” Excuse me? Let me get my Gag-o-meter. But as maddening as that sounds, I actually understood. There were funny bits but there weren't enough of them, so give me some more of those — which we did! The other mysterious note in this category had us baffled for a long time. “Too broad” was the note we got. Too broad? Did that mean the scene lapsed into the unbelievable? Was “too broad” short for “not real”? Because we had a lot of “not real” scenes and jokes in our story, and the studio seemed to like those! It took us awhile, but we finally figured it out. Too broad meant… “not funny!” It meant: “Doesn't work.”
And that's kind of a clue for every note a writer gets. If you want to get binary about it, at its most simple, any red flag offered by any reader or executive means “doesn't work.” How or why it doesn't work almost doesn't matter. It just means that the line or scene or character, as it is currently written, stopped the reading process, stopped the enjoyment of the story, and, that in and of itself, must be addressed. I've even talked to writers who are convinced a specific page note — for example, a problem on page 35 — might be about problems that happened several pages before. We may have started to lose the reader five or 10 pages back, so it isn't a bad idea to review the run-up to the actual note to see if the problem doesn't really lie earlier on.
Other little notes that I've heard over the years include:
► Dial it up or Dial it down – Often these phrases are heard in context of minor characters. Can we “dial up” the essence of that character and see or hear more? Can we get more scenes with him or her and make that role bigger? Or, conversely, can we “dial down” to make that character less so? In Star Wars, they “dialed up” Yoda as the “prequels” unfolded, but “dialed down” Jar Jar Binks. (If only it was done at the script stage!)
► Too soft – This was a note — particularly given to me as a family-film writer — that was often baffling. “Too soft” went hand in hand with the notion that my script had to be more “edgy.” Too soft meant so sweet or homespun we need insulin shots to read it. But “too soft” can also mean the hero is passive, that there is not enough conflict, or the tone is out-of-date for the audience.
► In your face – Here's another peculiar one. I was once told that a scene someone felt was dull or not “big” enough, had to be more “in your face.” My best guess is this means we need the conflict to be greater, and whatever confrontation was on display — either as a whole or in a scene — had to have more to it. Again, it boils down to: If it “doesn't work,” our job is to make it work… or be prepared for executives to hire a writer who will!
LOGIC POLICE
One of my favorite aspects of the rewrite process — and working with others — is the frequent discussion that comes up about “What would really happen?” We bring different experiences to the development of any script, but it's amazing, no matter how wildly different we are, our sense of “natural law” is the same. And yet finding that consensus can lead to some memorable discussions.
Often these debates occur between notes sessions. We'll have a “tools-down” moment when everyone shares their personal philosophies about a fictional situation, and the different notion of what is logical as we see it. These conversations, examples of which follow, can be remarkable.
What is “justice”? Let's say we're figuring out the punishment for a minor character in a story. Think of the one Jason Alexander plays in Pretty Woman. Toward the end of that film, jealous Jason attempts to rape Julia Roberts, and as his just desserts he is denied the friendship of — and a business deal with — Richard Gere. But should he have been more harshly dealt with? What about filing charges? What about reporting his behavior to his wife or his boss? Is Jason's punishment enough?
This same debate can be applied to another favorite example from the Val Kilmer-starring, Martha Coolidge-directed comedy, Real Genius. At the end of that film, Kent (Robert Prescott), the Cal Tech “snitch,” is implanted with a microchip in his fillings that makes him think God is talking to h
im, and directing him to help our heroes best the bad guys. His punishment is the “justice” of exclusion and embarrassment. But for a whole movie's worth of nasty things that Kent did to Val and his genius-IQ buddies — including sabotaging a vital experiment — is this enough? When Kent's nearly killed by a satellite laser beam in the Finale, and our heroes rush to save him, should they? Or does Kent deserve to die?
Real Genius: Before he was Batman, Val Kilmer was a Real Genius up against the Big Snitch on Campus, Kent. But does Kent deserve to die?
What is “admirable”? One of my favorite examples of “Save the Cat!” is when we first meet the title character in Aladdin, as the hungry waif steals some bread. He's let off the hook for his crime by giving his hard-earned prize to two orphans in an alley — thus “saving the cat.” We are even shown Aladdin's sidekick, Abu the monkey, selfishly eating his stolen pita, and note the difference between them: Heroes not only have honor, but also the self-control their own pals lack! There's a very different “Save the Cat!” moment in The Dark Knight, when we meet Batman battling look-alikes and killer dogs. The “Save the Cat!” beat comes when Batman snaps the neck of one of the dogs — and the audience cheers! Are they right to? Does this show the same compassion that heroes in these kinds of movies are known for? And if not, why are we still rooting to see Batman defeat the Joker? Is it only because the Joker is “worse”? Well, what's worse than strangling a dog?
What is “proper”? Once during a notes meeting for a movie script a partner and I had written, we had a discussion about the hero who had just been stood up by his girlfriend. What should be our guy's response? The reactions around the table were kinda tame, varying from “Call the girl and find out what happened” to “Go to her apartment to see if she's okay.” Finally during a pause in the proceedings, a male producer shouted: “Dump the bitch!” to which everyone responded in horror.
On the surface, our reaction to the note was a reaction to him. Chauvinist! Sexist! Gold-chain-wearing Hollywood producer! we all were secretly thinking. But in fact what he was pointing out… made sense. What he was really saying was that in his opinion he lost respect for a character that didn't stand up for himself. Having been dissed, having been put down by being stood up, maybe being understanding wasn't “proper” at all? It also spoke to a problem we'd been having all along: Our hero was soft (there's that word again), and while that's okay in a rom-com — when the hero is a goofy loser about to learn that his gal is cheating on him — that wasn't the case in this story. In fact, what might be “proper” in a real life situation wasn't appropriate here either!
The real question to ask in all these cases is “What would really happen… in this world?” and the answer can be different depending on the type, tone, and subject of each movie. In each of the instances cited above, the solutions are in fact right on. Are the punishments “just” for both Jason Alexander and “Kent”? Yeah, pretty much, given the world of each. Are the “Save the Cat!” beats right for both Aladdin and Batman? Considering the tone of each movie, I'd say absolutely; after all, the word “Dark” is in the title of the latter film — what did you expect?
We all walk into the movie theater with a basic notion of the Golden Rule, but it's not always one size fits all. The only thing we ask for as an audience is continuity. The rules of every movie can be different so long as they stay consistent. And enforcing the laws of your movie is a job for the “Logic Police.” When they're called in, they must assess on a case-by-case basis.
When the Logic Police do arrive on the scene of any script in progress, they must check in often to make sure we get and stay on course. This is where the “group grope” can help — with insight coming from a source you might not ever have expected; some-times God inspires our writing and sometimes it's a producer in the corner with a headache who just wants to go home early.
HITTING THE WALL: QUICK FIXES FOR JARRING YOU LOOSE
Invariably in any rewrite process we will “hit the wall.” It's not working. We can't quite tell why. And we've been over it again and again till we've worn a hole in the carpet from pacing.
Here are some ways that have worked for me — and for my writers group pals — to break out of the dead end you seem to be in:
► Ask the question! – In the movie JFK, while perusing the Warren Report, a frustrated Kevin Costner as District Attorney Jim Garrison, says: “Ask the question! Ask the question!” There is an elephant in the room, a glaring omission of truth, and yet no one is addressing it. This blindness occurs in screenwriting too. Let's say your story involves a heroine: She's a cop. Her Mom died. Her Dad's her best friend. Well, because we thought this up, that's the way we see it, and that's all we see. All's fine except the drama is flat. Well, take a breath, and… ask the question: Why did she become a cop? How did Mom die? Is Dad dating anybody? Is she? These obvious questions sometimes jar loose an obvious answer — one that's been missing from the story.
► Don't force “logic” – Often we cling to a Rube Goldberg-like series of story plot points that supposedly pay off. But at what cost? To get our hero to trigger the metal detector he's going through in the airport scene we love, we give him a steel plate in his head received from his tour in Desert Storm — and maybe throw in a great scene with his Draft Board just to make sure we've set it up. But is this a character beat or are we just clinging to the airport scene and the funny line the security guard says? Yes, it all makes sense, but don't go down an unnecessary path.
► Pull the pin – What is your greatest fear? It's the fear you have to start over. If you pull the pin, the house of cards collapses, so you resist out of — hate to say it! — sheer laziness. That fear of pulling the pin and watching all your hard work be “ruined” is what's constipating you. Well, pull the pin. Blow it up. Then a funny thing happens. When you start picking up the pieces, you may only save one or two, but it might be the ones you can build on in the rewrite. Part of all this is task avoidance, and neither writer nor producer can hold back. Seeking the right answer often involves a radically new idea. To quote Dan again:
Don't be afraid of non-conventional solutions to problems. Producers, I know you have to eventually present the script to someone higher up, but don't be closed to letting the writers at least try something that might feel too weird. It might just work. Just make it clear that if it doesn't deliver what it should, you will have to find another solution. Fear is not a friend to creativity. Let the writers go away and think about all the things that have been discussed and come back to pitch which notes work for them and which do not (and possible solutions to problem areas). It is a process… and possibly most important… and I'm not sure how exactly to suss this… make sure you are on the same page with the writers. I can't tell you how many times writers have walked away from a meeting and didn't have a clue (or passive aggressively ignored) what the big notes were.
Actually, not to contradict Dan, but I think fear can be a tremendous boost to creativity! As I will talk about in the final chapter, having your back to the wall is often just what the doctor ordered to wring out the very best from a creative person. There's nothing like a little 3:00 a.m. panic to find your focus. I think what Dan really means is “ oppression is not a friend to creativity.” If there is any sense in “that room” that it's “my way or the highway” on the part of executives, or we are not open to something new in the rewriting of a script, it always takes the joy out of it for me as the writer. I have to feel that we're all at least kinda on the same page.
But sadly that is not always the case…
DIFFERENT VISIONS
There are some times in a rewrite when you simply have “creative differences” — a Hollywood term for “Here are some lovely parting gifts….” My experiences have mostly been great and I personally have only once walked away from a project — and wished I hadn't. The key is to remain ethical, reasonable, and professional at all times — or at least in public — and not withdraw for any reason that is petty, persona
l, or piqued. We live to fight another day!
Are there sad stories? Dean has one we've all experienced:
My script had a “flashing” green light and the studio's full support, including an announcement from the Chairman that it was “exactly the kind of movie we need to be making right now.” And then it all reversed with one exec's botched pitch to the CEO. Suddenly, the script was riddled with flaws and no one, least of all the producers, stood up for it. The project went into a tailspin, the script was rewritten to disheartening studio response, and put into turnaround. It showed me the importance of a good producer and taught me a valuable lesson about the random elements in play in the studio system — none of which you can anticipate or control. There's a definite luck element to it all.
There is many a slip twixt the green light and the script, but we have no choice but to keep plugging away. To quote Jeremy:
No retreat, baby! No surrender! Don't quit! Keep trying! Keep pushing! Go down a direction even if it's the “wrong”one. You never know when a director or actor will come on and want to go back to the original direction, so stay with the project until you're ready to throw up from everyone asking: “How's (fill in title here) doing?” Make them force you to quit, but never jump!
If only there were another development solution…
A NEW HOPE
