Save the Cat!

by Blake Snyder

  Boy, are you screwed!

  And I personally refuse to listen.

  It's because I know the writer hasn't thought it through. Not really. Because a good screenwriter, especially anyone writing on spec, has to think about everyone all down the line, from the agent to the producer to the studio head to the public. You won't be there to "set the mood," so how are you going to get strangers excited? And getting them excited is Job One. So I cut writers off at their FADE IN: because I know everyone else will too. If you can't tell me about it in one quick line, well, buddy I'm on to something else. Until you have your pitch, and it grabs me, don't bother with the story.

  In Hollywood parlance it's called a logline or a one-line. And the difference between a good one and a bad one is simple. When I pick up the trades and read the logline of a spec or a pitch that's sold and my first reaction is "Why didn't 7 think of that?!" Well... that's a good one. At random I'm going to select a few recent sales (from my Web source: www.hollywoodlitsaIes.com) that made me jealous. They're in my genre, family comedy, but what we can learn from them crosses comedy, drama, whatever. Each of these was a big, fat spec sale in the six-to-seven figure range:

  A newly married couple must spend Christmas Day at each of their four divorced parent's homes — 4 Christmases

  A just-hired employee goes on a company weekend and soon discovers someone's trying to kill him — The Retreat

  A risk-averse teacher plans on marrying his dream girl but must first accompany his overprotective future brother-in-law — a cop — on a ride along from hell! — Ride Along (Please note: Anything "from hell" is always a comedy plus.)

  Believe it or not, each of these loglines has the same things in common. Along with answering "What is it?" each contains four components that make it a sale.

  What are those four components?

  Well, let's investigate... the logline from hell!

  ISN'T IT IRONIC?

  The number one thing a good logline must have, the single most important element, is: irony. My good friend and former writing partner, the funny and fast-typing Colby Carr, pointed this out to me one time and he's IOO% correct. And that goes for whether it's a comedy or a drama.

  A cop comes to L.A. to visit his estranged wife and her office building is taken over by terrorists — Die Hard

  A businessman falls in love with a hooker he hires to be his date for the weekend — Pretty Woman

  I don't know about you, but I think both of these loglines, one from a drama, one from a romantic comedy, fairly reek of irony. And irony gets my attention. It's what we who struggle with log-lines like to call the hook, because that's what it does. It hooks your interest.

  What is intriguing about each of the spec sales I've cited above is that they, too, have that same ironic touch. A holiday season of supposed family joy is turned on its cynical head in the 4 Christmases example. What could be more unexpected (another way to say "ironic") for a new employee, instead of being welcomed to a company, to be faced with a threat on his life during

  The Retreat? What Colby identified is the fact that a good logline must be emotionally intriguing, like an itch you have to scratch.

  A logline is like the cover of a book; a good one makes you want to open it, right now, to find out what's inside. In identifying the ironic elements of your story and putting them into a logline, you may discover that you don't have that. Well, if you don't, then there may not only be something wrong with your logline — maybe your story's off, too. And maybe it's time to go back and rethink it. Insisting on irony in your logline is a good place to find out what's missing. Maybe you don't have a good movie yet.

  A COMPELLING MENTAL PICTURE

  The second most important element that a good logline has is that you must be able to see a whole movie in it. Like Proust's madeleine, a good logline, once said, blossoms in your brain. You see the movie, or at least the potential for it, and the mental images it creates offer the promise of more. One of my personal favorites is producer David Permut's pitch for Blind Date: "She's the perfect woman — until she has a drink." I don't know about you, but I see it. I see a beautiful girl and a date gone bad and a guy who wants to save it because... she's the one! There's a lot going on in that one-line, far more than in the actual movie, but that's a different subject altogether. The point is that a good logline, in addition to pulling you in, has to offer the promise of more.

  In the above examples for new spec script sales, we even see where each film begins and ends, don't we? Although I haven't read more than the one-line for Ride Along, I think this movie will probably take place in one night, like After Hours. That actually goes for each of those examples. All three loglines clearly demarcate a time frame in which their story takes place: Christmas Day, the weekend of a corporate retreat, and in the case of Ride Along, a single night.

  In addition, the Ride Along example offers an obvious comic conflict as opposites face off over a common goal. It will take a naive, scaredy-cat teacher and throw him into the crime-ridden world of his brother-in-law, the cop. This is why "fish-out-of-water" stories are so popular: You can see the potential fireworks of one type of person being thrust into a world outside his ken. In that one set-up line a whole story blooms with possibilities.

  Does your logline offer this? Does giving me the set-up of your comedy or drama make my imagination run wild with where I think the story will go? If it doesn't, you haven't got the logline yet. And I'll say it again: If you don't have the logline, maybe you should rethink your whole movie.

  AUDIENCE AND COST

  Another thing a good logline has, that is important in attracting studio buyers, is a built-in sense of who it's for and what it's going to cost.

  Let's take 4 Christmases for example. I'll bet they're going after the same audience that Meet The Parents and its sequel Meet the Fockers found. Both of these are medium-cost, four-quadrant pictures that seek to attract the broadest possible audience. From the elements I see inherent in the 4 Christmases pitch, it's what the writers are trying for. They're going to get two twenty-something stars to pull in the core target — young people — and they're going to stunt cast the parents' roles with stars the older crowd likes. Can we get Jack or Robin or Dustin? Well, sure! Look how well De Niro did in Meet The Parents!

  I also know from the logline that the movie's not expensive. Sure there may be a car chase or two and a Christmas tree fire (I'm guessing) but basically it's a block comedy — so called because it lakes place... on the block. There are few "company moves" where cast and crew have to travel. It's cheap. If I'm an executive who's looking for a general audience, medium budget (depending on the stars) Christmas perennial, this sounds just about perfect for my needs. I know what I'm dealing with in terms of audience and cost.

  Send it over!

  And someone obviously did.

  That's a whole lot to ask from one lousy line of description, don't you think? But it's right there.

  Does your logline contain that kind of information?

  A KILLER TITLE

  Lastly, what is intriguing about a good logline must include the title. Title and logline are, in fact, the one-two punch, and a good combo never fails to knock me out. Like the irony in a good logline, a great title must have irony and tell the tale. One of the best titles of recent memory, and one I still marvel at, is Legally Blonde. When I think about all the bad titles it could have been — Barbie Goes To Harvard, Totally Law School, Airhead Apparent — to come up with one that nails the concept, without being so on the nose that it's stupid, is an art unto itself. I am jealous of that title. A good sign!

  My favorite bad title ever, just to give you an idea of what doesn't work for me, is For Love or Money. There've been four movies with that title that I know of, one starring Michael J. Fox, and I can't tell you the plot of any of them. You could probably call every movie ever made For Love or Money and be right — technically. It just shows how un-daring a generic title can be and how something vague like that ki
lls your interest in paying $10 to see it.

  One of the key ingredients in a good title, however, is that it must be the headline of the story. Again I cite 4 Christmases as an example. While it's not a world-beater, it's not bad. But it does the one thing that a good title must do, and I'll highlight it because it's vital that you get this:

  It says what it is!

  They could have called 4 Christmases something more vague, how about Yuletide? That says "Christmas," right? But it doesn't pinpoint what this particular Christmas movie is about. It doesn't say what it is, which is a movie about one couple spending four different Christmases with four different sets of families on the same Christmas day. If it doesn't pass the Say What It Is Test, you don't have your title. And you don't have the one-two punch that makes a great logline.

  I admit that often I have come up with the title first and made the story match. That's how I thought up a script I went on to co-write and sell called Nuclear Family. At first all I had was the title, then I came up with the ironic twist. Instead of nuclear as in "father, mother, and children" the way the term is meant, why not nuclear as in "radioactive." The logline became: "A dysfunctional family goes camping on a nuclear dumpsite and wakes up the next morning with super powers." With the help of my writing partner, the quick-witted and jet-setting Jim Haggin, we fleshed out that story and sold the script in a bidding war to Steven Spielberg for $1 million. Our title and logline met all the criteria cited above: irony, promise of more, audience and cost (four-quadrant, with special effects, not stars), and one that definitely said what it is.

  It's a movie I still want to see, if anyone's listening.

  YOU AND YOUR "WHAT IS IT?"

  All good screenwriters are bullheads. There, I said it.

  But I mean it in a nice way! Because if there's anyone who understands the occasional arrogance of the screenwriter, it's moi. To be a screenwriter is to deal with an ongoing tug of war between breathtaking megalomania and insecurity so deep it takes years of therapy just to be able to say "I'm a writer" out loud. This is especially so among the spec screenwriting crowd I like to hang with. We come up with our movie ideas, we start to "create," we SEE it so clearly, that often by the time we're writing that sucker, it's too late to turn back. We're going to bullhead our way through this script no matter what anyone says. But I am suggesting that you say "whoa" to all that. I'm proposing that before you head off into your FADE IN: you think long and hard about the logline, the title, and the poster.

  And even do some test marketing.

  What's that, you ask?

  A TEST MARKETING EXAMPLE

  I have posed the possibility that you hold off on writing your script until you get a killer logline and title. I know this is painful. But here's where it pays off. I have just been working with a screenwriter online. He did not have his logline. He did have a good idea — or at least the start of one — but the logline was vague, it didn't grab me. I sent him back to the dreaded Page One (an almost total rewrite). He bitched and moaned, but he did it.

  He put away his story and all the vivid scenes and the recurring motifs and started writing loglines — an awful, soul-eating chore. He tried to come up with ones that were still his story, but which met the criteria. What he discovered, after many failed attempts, was that he had to start fudging his logline to get it to have irony, audience and cost, a clear sense of what the movie promised, and a killer title. Arid when he finally let go of his preconceived notions of what his story was — voila! The logline changed.

  Soon, he started getting better response from people he pitched to, and suddenly, voila! #2 — his story started to change to match the logline, and voila! #3 — the story got better! The irony of what he sort of had was brought into better focus. And when it was put into a pithy logline form, the conflicts were brought into sharper focus too. They had to! Or else the logline wouldn't work. The characters became more distinct, the story became more clearly defined, and the logline ultimately made the actual writing easier.

  The best thing about what this screenwriter discovered is that he saved everybody, all down the line, a whole lot of money and trouble. Can you imagine trying to do these kinds of logline fixes during postproduction? It's a little late by then. Before anyone spent a dime, using only paper, pencil, and his own wits, he did everyone's job for them. He not only made it easier for the guy with the newspaper to pitch to his friends, but he gave them a better story once they got to the movie theater. All because he had given his project a better "What is it?"

  The other great part about road-testing your logline is that you have the experience of all-weather pitching. I pitch to anyone who will stand still. I do it in line at Starbucks. I do it with friends and strangers. I always spill my guts when it comes to discussing what I'm working on, because:

  a. I have no fear that anyone will steal my idea (and anyone who

  has that fear is an amateur) and...

  b. You find out more about your movie by talking to people one-on-one than having them read it.

  This is what I mean by "test marketing."

  When I am about to go pitch a studio, when I am working on a new idea for a movie, or when I can't decide which of four or five ideas is best, I talk to "civilians." I talk to them and I look in their eyes as I'm talking. When they start to drift, when they look away, I've lost them. And I know my pitch has problems. So I make sure that when I pitch to my next victim, I've corrected whatever slow spot or confusing element I overlooked the first time out. And most of all, it's really fun to do.

  A typical scenario goes like this:

  INT. COFFEE BEAN AND TEA LEAF - SUNSET PLAZA - DAY A melange of starlets, weekend Hell's Angels, and Eurotrash snobs sip double mocha frappes. Blake Snyder eyes the crowd. He approaches the person who seems least likely to hit him.

  BLAKE SNYDER Hi, could you help me?

  STRANGER (dubious)

  What is it? I have a Pilates class in ten minutes.

  BLAKE SNYDER Perfect, this will only take a second. I'm working on a movie idea and I wanted to know what you think.

  STRANGER (smiling, looks at watch) Okay...

  This, to me, is the perfect set-up and one that I repeat with all age groups, in all kinds of situations, all over Southern California — but especially with the target audience of whatever I'm working on.

  This kind of test marketing is not only a great way to meet people, it's the only way to know what you've got. And a "pitchee" who is thinking about being somewhere else is the perfect subject. If you can get his attention, if you can keep his attention, and if he wants to know more about the story you're telling, you've really got a good movie idea.

  What you'll also find by getting out from behind your computer and talking to people is how that true-life experience that happened to you in summer camp in 1972, the story that you are basing your entire screenplay on that means so much to you, means nothing to a stranger. To get and keep that stranger's attention, you're going to have to figure out a way to present a compelling "What is it?" that does mean something to him. Or you're going to be wasting your time. There are a lot more strangers than friends buying tickets to movies. No matter who is encouraging you on the friend side of your life, it's the strangers you really need to impress.

  What better way to find out what you've got than to actually go out and ask?

  THE "DEATH" OF HIGH CONCEPT

  All of the above dances around a term that many people in Hollywood hate: high concept. The term was made famous by Jeffrey Katzenberg and Michael Eisner in their heyday as young gurus running Disney.

  To them it meant just what we've been discussing here — making the movie easier to see — and they came up with a long run of successful high concept movies. All you had to do was look at the one-sheet (another name for the poster) and you knew "What is it?" for Ruthless People, Outrageous Fortune, and Down and Out in Beverly Hills. Like most fashionable terms it's now out to say your project is high concept. The death of high concept
has been proclaimed many times. But like a lot of what I'm going to discuss throughout this book, I care less about what is au currant and more about what works and what is simple common sense.

  In my opinion, thinking "high concept," thinking about "What is it?" is just good manners, common courtesy if you will. It's a way to put yourself in the shoes of the customer, the person who's paying good money, including parking and a babysitter, to come and see your film. And don't kid yourself, as brilliant as these two visionaries are, Michael Eisner and Jeffrey Katzenberg didn't invent high concept, it's been around from the beginning.

  Think about every Preston Sturges movie hit from the 1940s — Christmas In July, Hail the Conquering Hero, Lady Eve, even Sullivan's Travels — all high concept ideas that drew people into theatres based on the logline and poster.

  Think about every Alfred Hitchcock thriller ever made — Rear Window, North by Northwest, Vertigo and Psycho.

  Just mentioning these movies to a true fan evokes the pitch and the poster of each story. And check out those titles. All of them, across the board, certainly say what it is and they do so in a way that's not on the nose or stupid (well, Psycho is potentially lame, but we'll let him off the hook on that one — it's Hitchcock, after all).

  The point is that if someone gives you static about your high concept idea, just smile and know that clearly and creatively presenting a better "What is it?" to a potential audience — no matter who they are or what position they occupy in the chain — never goes out of fashion. I defy those who think this is a game for salesmen and not filmmakers to come up with a better title than Legally Blonde. And as we will see in the next chapter, we're only at the beginning of finding ways to put yourself in the shoes of the moviegoer.

  And that is what we should all be doing more of.