by Blake Snyder
But they all work for a reason.
Because each movie followed the rules.
And they gave us the same thing... only different.
SUPERHERO
The "Superhero" genre is the exact opposite of Dude with a Problem and can best be defined by its opposite definition: An extraordinary person finds himself in an ordinary world. Like Gulliver tied to the beach by the Lilliputians, a Superhero tale asks us to lend human qualities, and our sympathy, to a super being, and identify with what it must be like to have to deal with the likes of us little people. No wonder so many brainy geeks and teens read comic books! They don't have far to go to get in sync and identify with what it's like to be so misunderstood.
This genre goes beyond stories about guys in capes and tights, however. It is more than the Marvel universe or the DC Comics characters. Gladiator and A Beautiful Mind (both Russell Crowe vehicles — another hmmm, interesting) are good examples of human superheroes that are challenged by the mediocre world around them. In both those films, it is the tiny minds that surround the hero that are the real problem. Don't they get it? Well, no they don't. That's why being "special" is so difficult. Frankenstein, Dracula, and X-Men are the same in this regard. Ultimately, all superhero tales are about being "different," a feeling with which
even we Lilliputians can identify. Born into a world he did not create, the Superhero must deal with those who are jealous of his unique point of view and superior mind. And from time to time we all feel this way. Anybody who's ever been shot down at the PTA or sneered at for bold thinking in a meeting at work can identify with Frankenstein's monster being chased by an angry mob of mouth-breathers with pitchforks and torches.
The problem of how to have sympathy for the likes of millionaire Bruce Wayne or genius Russell Crowe, is solved by stressing the pain that goes hand-in-hand with having these advantages. It's not easy being Bruce Wayne. The poor guy is tortured! And while it might be cheaper to get therapy (if he can afford a Bat-utility belt, he can certainly pay 150 bucks an hour for a shrink), Bruce Wayne is admirable because he eschews his personal comfort in the effort to give back to the community. This is so often why the first movie in a Superhero series succeeds and ones that follow don't (such as Robocop 2). The creation myth that begins each Superhero franchise stresses sympathy for the Superhero's plight. Once established, filmmakers forget to re-create that sympathy and draw us into the human side of the Superhero again. (Spider-Man 2 avoids this mistake and, not surprisingly, was a smash hit.)
In truth, we will never truly understand the Superhero. Indeed our identification with him must come from sympathy for the plight of being misunderstood. If you are writing a Superhero movie, a wide range of tales are available for dissection. It's a long-standing story type for a reason: It gives flight to our greatest fantasies about our potential, while tempering those fantasies with a dose of reality.
HOLLYWOOD'S DIRTY LITTLE SECRET
I'm sure having reviewed this list of genres you're not only seeing why so many movies are structurally identical to others, but have had many "Eureka!" moments when you're convinced that outright "stealing" has been perpetrated.
And guess what? You're not so wrong to think that.
Look at Point Break starring Patrick Swayze, then look at Fast and Furious. Yes, it's the same movie almost beat for beat. But one is about surfing, the other is about hot cars. Is that stealing? Is that cheating? Now look at The Matrix and compare and contrast it with the Disney/Pixar hit Monsters, Inc. Yup. Same movie. And there's a million more examples: Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is Chinatown. Blank Check is very similar to Home Alone. In some instances, the stealing is conscious. In others, it's just coincidence. But very often the reason it happens is that story templates work and they work for a reason that must be repeated. Each of these movies is an example of successful storytelling. Several are huge hits. Do you think anyone is complaining that Fast and Furious ripped off the story beats of Point Break? Did anyone notice but you and me? Doubtful.
The point I'm trying to get across here is — it works. And it works for a reason. Because the laws of physics that govern storytelling work every time, in every situation. Your job is to learn why it works and how these story cogs fit together. When it seems like you're stealing — don't. When it feels like a cliche — give it a twist. When you think it's familiar — it probably is, so you've got to find a new way. But at least understand why you're tempted to use the cliche and the familiar story. The rules are there for a reason. Once you get over feeling confined by these rules, you'll be amazed at how freeing they are. True originality can't begin until you know what you're breaking away from.
SUMMARY
The topic of genre dictates the categorizing of movies. But instead of typical categories such as Romantic Comedy or Heist Movie, we've created 10 new ones that define story types. These categories are all you need for now to help you identify the story mechanics of the movie idea you're working on. You will not need to find exclusions to them.
Or have I written those words prematurely?
You are a screenwriter. And as I said in Chapter One, all good screenwriters are bullheads. So I know what your response to the hard work and years of experience that went into what I've just related to you is: What about the exceptions? What about Breakfast Club? Huh? Is that Rites of Passage or Institutionalized? (Answer: Institutionalized). Oh, yeah, well what about Rain Man? Is that a Golden Fleece or a Buddy Love movie? (Answer: Buddy Love). Okay smart guy, what about Ben Stiller's Zoolander???? (Answer: It's just a bad movie!! Actually, it's one of my favorite bad movies. But it's also a great example of... the Superhero genre.)
If you're looking for the exceptions to the rules, you're missing the point of this chapter, which is to use categorizing as a storytelling tool. You must know movies. But you can't know them all. So this is a way to start. Take the script you're working on and try to find what category it's most like. Maybe you have moments in your script that borrow from all the categories? Maybe you start off your screenplay telling one type of story and end up telling another. That's fine, too. (I mean, at the end of the day, I doubt you'll sell that script, but we all have to learn the hard way. We're screenwriters! Pain is the game!)
The point is to be well-versed in the language, rhythm, and goals of the genre you're trying to move forward. If you know what genre
you're in, learn its rules and find what's essential; you'll write a better and more satisfying movie.
And have a better chance to sell it.
What's so great about these genres is how inspiring they are — at least to me. Seeing these genres laid out, and seeing their heritage — often going back to very ancient and familiar tales — tells me that the job of "Give me the same thing... only different" is not new. Jaws is just a retelling of the ancient Greek myth of the Minatour or even the dragon-slayer tales of the Middle Ages. Superman is just a modern Hercules. Road Trip is just an update of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales — isn't it? To not know the roots of the story you're trying to create, either from the last IOO years of movie storytelling or the last thousand, is to not honor the traditions and fundamental goals of your job.
"Give me the same thing... only different" then is what storytelling has always been about. But it's the way we put new twists on old tales, bring them up to date, and give them a spin that's meaningful for our contemporaries. It's a skill we must master and apply to all aspects of the craft. And in the next chapter, we'll discuss how to take all this wonderful background and draw out the most important part: the hero.
EXERCISES
1. Pick up the movie section of your newspaper. Review each of the movies available and decide what genre they fall into. If you go see that movie, compare and contrast it with the other movies in that genre. Were you drawn to it because of the type of movie it is?
2. Grab your handy TV Guide and go to the movie loglines. Going down the list to check films you've seen, write what genre each falls into. (Using the categories
above, simply assign a number to each movie you've seen.) Does it work? Does every movie listed fall into a genre?
3. For the movie idea or script you're working on now, decide what category it falls into. Then make a list of other movies in that genre. As homework, go to your local Blockbuster and see how many of these are available. Make notes about how they compare and contrast to each other. Can you better explain what type of movie your idea or finished script is part of?
4. Finally, for those of you who love to find exceptions to the rules, make up your own genre and give it a name. Find three other movies in that genre. Can you find five? Maybe you've discovered a new genre!
If you come up with a brand new genre category, use my e-mail address found in the exercise section of Chapter One and send it to me. If it's really a good one, I may even include it in subsequent editions of this book.
The next step in figuring out what your movie is about is to figure out whom it's about.
As my wise old father used to say, "Tell me a story about a guy who..."
And after the concept, whenever I hear a screenwriter wind up to pitch his movie idea, somewhere in there I better hear some version of: "It's about a guy who... "
Why is this?
Well, it's like anything connected with trying to communicate an idea. The "who" is our way in. We, the audience, zero in on and project onto the "who" whether it's an epic motion picture or a commercial for Tide detergent. The "who" gives us someone to identify with — and that someone doesn't even have to be human. Why do mascots and spokespeople like the Jack character in all those Jack-in-the-Box commercials — or any talking corporate icon for that matter — draw us into the "story" of the product being sold? It's because it's easier to communicate an idea when someone is standing there experiencing it for us. And whether we're watching Lawrence of Arabia as Lawrence tries to figure out how to
attack Aqaba " ...from the land!" or a Tylenol commercial in which a busy Soccer Mom wonders when her headache will go away, the principle of involving us in the story is the same.
As screenwriters with a great idea for a movie, the job of creating heroes that will lure an audience into our world is unique. We have to create audience stand-ins that resonate for our target market AND serve the needs and goals of our story. And it starts from the very beginning with that great logline that hooks us with someone to identify with as much as something. This is why in any logline, any good logline, there will always be a couple of adjectives involved: A risk-averse teacher who... an agoraphobic stenographer
who... a milquetoast banker who____This also goes for the antagonist
who now must be described as an overprotective cop, a megalomaniac terrorist, or a homicidal baker. So let's add a few things to our list of what the "perfect" logline must include to be truly compelling:
> An adjective to describe the hero
> An adjective to describe the bad guy, and...
> A compelling goal we identify with as human beings
By giving us even these thumbnail sketches of whom we are going to be following — as well as the bad guy who is trying to block our hero from achieving his goal — we get a better snapshot of what is involved so we can latch onto, get interested in, and follow the story. But how are we going to do all that? How are we going to satisfy our great story AND create the "right" characters to sell it?
WHO IS THIS ABOUT?
Every movie, even ensemble pieces like Pulp Fiction "starring" John Travolta or Crimes and Misdemeanors "starring" Woody Allen, has to have a lead character. It has to be about someone. It has to have
one or two main people we can focus our attention on, identify with, and want to root for — and someone who can carry the movie's theme.
As important as creating this type of hero is, and singling him out even if we're writing an ensemble piece, the hero isn't always the first thing we think of, or the way we come at creating a "can't lose" movie idea. I hate to admit it, but I rarely begin writing any movie with the "who" in mind. More often it's the idea first. And if the hero is a part of the idea — well, that's just gravy. Many will tell you differently, and this is only my approach, but I think the "who" has to serve the "what is it?" — not the other way around. And once you have that golden idea, that winning pitch, that perfect hook, and don't quite yet have the "who," it's time to go to work to enhance the idea with the right characters, especially the hero of the story.
It's all about making the "What is it?" work better.
In many cases, the key to figuring out whom this story is about and what type of person is leading the action is right there in your log-line. In the scripts I've sold, many times the initial concept gave me the roadmap and all I had to do was clarify. In Poker Night, a comedy Colby Carr and I sold to Disney, the pitch is the characters: "A henpecked husband finally gets the house to himself one weekend and loses it in a poker game to an unscrupulous gambler." It's "Risky Business with a Dad." Need I say more? To service that concept all we had to do was play with the balance of the hero and the villain — and make it about Dad's journey from henpecked to empowered.
Another comedy we came up with and sold to Universal, called Third Grade, has an equally simple premise. This is a story about an adult man who has to go back to third grade. After being caught in a speed trap in front of his old school, the hero is ordered by the judge to be sent back to third grade to learn some manners. Easy concept, right? But who is the best person to put in this situation? What person would offer the most comic conflict given that punishment? What hero would offer "the longest journey" and need to learn the biggest lesson? Any takers? Well, in the development process it became clear. The guy who needs that lesson most is someone who has yet to grow up. On the outside he is a successful businessman, a guy up for a promotion at his work — designing violent video games for kids (ironic, no?) — but who has yet to learn the basics of Human Being School.
This is a guy who needs to go back to third grade, but doesn't know it yet. And only this adventure will give him the comic lessons he so richly deserves. It's a sweet little movie idea, the poster is inherent in the premise; it's a guy in an Armani suit and a cell phone squeezed into a tiny desk surrounded by out-of-control eight-year olds and maybe a "Kick Me" sign taped to his back. Get it? Well, of course you do. But the gimmick of sending someone back to third grade wouldn't mean anything unless we figured out the perfect hero to take that journey.
AMPING UP THE LOGLINE
Many times, your great initial idea will only give you a hint of what has to be done to create the hero that sells your idea best. To make the idea work, very often you have to play with the characters in order to give your hero the most conflict, the longest journey, and the most primal goal to "amp up" the idea for maximum impact. To make this clear, let's look at our loglines cited in Chapter One and tinker around with other possible "whos" for these ideas.
In 4 Christmases, all I know is that the two leads are a young couple. They both come from families of divorce and re-marriage — thus the problem of having to see all four of their families on
Christmas Day. My guess is that this is a couple that wants to be together forever, but is having problems at the get-go. They eschew their families and the problems they grew up with; they don't want to get divorced. But maybe it's not all peaches and cream: They're newlyweds! So this day will be a test for them. Do they want to go the way of their parents? Or do they want to go their own way, form a permanent bond, and never get divorced? Granted, I have not read the script. I have no idea what the writers chose to do, but that's the way I'd go.
And suddenly, given this very deep and primal urge, the urge to stay committed and be in love forever despite their families, this couple is worth rooting for. That's a movie I'd like to see because those are characters I want to see win. So swiftly, this "easy" premise has real meaning. We have not only identified the "right" characters for this story, but given them a built-in, Alpha-Omega journey to take in the course of this m
ovie. Now the story IS the characters. And you thought it was just a funny poster!
In Ride Along, part of the pitch, part of the mental picture that makes the idea crackle for me, is the adjectives. A "risk-averse" teacher goes on a ride along with his brother-in-law, an "over-protective" cop, and the goal is primal: the love of the woman they both care about. Those adjectives tell me exactly where this story is going. It's a trial by fire for the teacher: Is he brave enough to overcome his fear and win the hand of his fiancee in the "real" world of manly cops? If he loves her, he will.
But now let's take that same ride-along idea and try some different characters in their places. What if we could do anything with this basic premise? What if the young man who is wooing the sister is not a teacher but an ex-Green Beret? Well, now it's a different movie. It warps the way it plays out in my mind. Now to make the comic conflict come to life, you make the cop the scaredy-cat. He's
Barney Fife and his future brother-in-law will be teaching him a thing or two between reminiscences of the Gulf War and a few demonstrations of his "thousand-yard stare." And odds are the ride along would be the ex-Green Beret's idea. Suddenly it's a very different movie, isn't it? But it's another way to go. It just shows how you can have a good idea — and absolutely wreck it with the wrong characters. To me, the original idea works best.
In the example of The Retreat, again the adjectives come into play to tell us the writers most likely did it right. The way they have it "cast" now, it's about a wet-behind-the-ears (read: young) company employee's first taste of corporate life at a weekend retreat — and someone's trying to kill him. Funny! But let's play around with the character to see other ways they could have gone with this same premise. What if the person going on the retreat is 65, has been at the company for 20 years, and is about to retire? Okay. So now it's about a company "downsizing" its employees for real before they can collect their retirement benefits. Same idea basically: a corporate retreat; a series of murder attempts; a paranoid who doesn't know why he's being targeted. But the journey's a lot different... and so is the moral. And so is the audience: no one will show up for that movie. At best it's an Indie starring Jack Lemmon, and Jack is, well, dead.
