by Blake Snyder
The debate section is just that — a debate. It's the last chance for the hero to say: This is crazy. And we need him or her to realize that. Should I go? Dare I go? Sure, it's dangerous out there, but what's my choice? Stay here?
My writing partner Sheldon Bull and I have been working on our Golden Fleece movie. In Act One, a kid is kicked out of military school and sent home to find... his parents have moved. Well, the kid's stuck. He can't go back to military school and he can't stay where he is. He knows where his parents moved to, so now it's a decision: Should he go on the road to find them? This is our chance to show how daunting a feat this is going to be. Can you imagine? But since it's a comedy, we've also made it funny. Our kid hero is taken to the edge of town at the end of Act One by a friendly cabbie. The kid looks ahead to a spooky-looking road down which he knows he must travel if he is to find his folks. Gulp! But his fear is quickly made light of when he's heckled by a driver passing by. And so, on a fun note, and making a firm decision, off he goes.
Your moment of truth may not be so clear-cut, but it's important to remember that the debate section must ask a question of some kind. In Legally Blonde the catalyst of the fiance dumping Elle Woods quickly segues to her solution: Go to Harvard Law. "But can she get in?" That is the question posed in the debate section of that movie. The debate section thus becomes showing how Elle answers that question. And when she manages to zoom her LSATs, create a lascivious admissions video, and get accepted, the answer to the question is clear: Yes! And like the kid hero in our "Home Alone on the road" movie, Elle can happily march into Act Two. She has answered the debate question and can now proceed.
BREAK INTO TWO (25)
It happens on page 25-1 have been in many arguments. Why not page 28? What's wrong with 30? Don't. Please.
In a IIO page screenplay, it happens no later than 25.
Page 25 is the place where I always go to first in a screenplay someone has handed me (we all have our reading quirks) to see "what happens on 25." I want to know 1) if anything happens and 2) if
this screenwriter knows that something should happen. And I mean something big.
Because that's what is supposed to happen... on 25-
As discussed above, the act break is the moment where we leave the old world, the thesis statement, behind and proceed into a world that is the upside down version of that, its antithesis. But because these two worlds are so distinct, the act of actually stepping into Act Two must be definite.
Very often when I am writing a screenplay, my act break will start off vaguely. I'll find that events will draw the hero into Act Two. This is incorrect. The hero cannot be lured, tricked, or drift into Act Two. The hero must make the decision himself. That's what makes him a hero anyway — being proactive. Take Star Wars. The event that prompts Luke Skywalker on his journey is his parents being killed, but the decision to "go on the road" is his. Luke cannot wake up on Han Solo's starship wondering how he got there, he has to choose to go. Make sure your hero does likewise.
B STORY (30)
The B story begins on page 30. And the B story of most screenplays is "the love story." It is also the story that carries the theme of the movie. I also think that the start of the B story, what takes place around page 30, is a little booster rocket that helps smooth over the shockingly obvious A story act break. Think about it. You've set up the A story, you've put it into motion, now we've had this abrupt jump into Act Two and you've landed in a whole new world. The B story says: "Enough already, how about talking about something else!" Which is why the cutaway is usually in line with the A story... but new in scope.
The B story gives us a breather.
Let's take Legally Blonde, for instance. The B story is Elle's relationship with the manicurist she meets in Boston. And it is a much needed break from the A story. We've met Elle. She's been dumped. She's decided to go to Law School. She gets there. And school is tough. Well, enough already, let's have a little time-out! Let's go slightly off theme here and meet someone new. Thus, the manicurist. And yes, while it is not a traditional boy-girl love story, it is in fact "the love story." It's where Elle will be nurtured. It is also the place where Elle confides what she is learning in the School of Hard Knocks she's experiencing at Harvard Law — and the place from which she'll draw the strength she needs for the final push into Act Three and ultimate victory.
The B story is also very often a brand new bunch of characters. We have not always met the B story players in the first IO pages of the screenplay. We did not even know they existed. But since Act Two is the antithesis, they are the upside down versions of those characters who inhabit the world of Act One. Again, the B story ally in Legally Blonde is a perfect example. Isn't Jennifer Goolidge, the wonderful actress who portrays manicurist Paulette Bonafonte, the funhouse mirror version of the girls from Elle's sorority house back at UCLA? This is why the character is so successful. She is a classic anti-thesis creature.
The B story then does a lot. And you must have one. It provides not only the love story and a place to openly discuss the theme of your movie, but gives the writer the vital "cutaways" from the A story. And it starts on 3O.
FUN AND GAMES (30-55)
The fun and games section is that part of the screenplay that, I
like to say, provides: The promise of the premise. It is the core and essence of the movie's poster. It is where most of the trailer moments of a movie are found. And it's where we aren't as concerned with the forward progress of the story — the stakes won't be raised until the midpoint — as we are concerned with having "fun." The fun and games section answers the question: Why did I come to see this movie? What about this premise, this poster, this movie idea, is cool? When you, the development exec, ask for "more set pieces," this is where I put them. In the fun and games.
This, to me, is the heart of the movie. When I discovered what this section of the screenplay needs to do, and why it's there, it leapfrogged me ahead IO places. For me it happened in the summer of 1989. And it was a definite "Hazzah!" moment that is rarely so clear. When I was writing my very first draft of Stop or My Mom Will Shoot! I was sort of stuck. I had this great premise, which was: "Dirty Harry gets a new partner — his mother." But what was that? What was that movie about? What were the dynamics of the comedy? (Many of you I'm sure are still asking.) Then one day I was sitting up in my office in the Fithian Building in Santa Barbara, California, and I had a great idea: the world's slowest chase! What if Joe the cop and his Mom are shot at by bad guys? And what if they give chase. But what if, instead of Joe jumping behind the wheel and driving — his Mom does. And she drives like a Mom, complete with holding her arm across Joe's chest when they stop at all the stop signs. When I sold my script and went to my first meeting at Universal, the executive told me that when he read that scene, that's when he decided to buy my script. Why? Because that's when he knew there was something to this idea. I had delivered on the promise of the premise. And where did I put that great set piece? Right where it belonged — in the fun and games section of the screenplay.
This goes for drama as well. The fun and games in Die Hard show Bruce Willis first outwitting the terrorists. The fun and games in Phone Booth occur when Colin Farrell realizes the seriousness of his predicament. We take a break from the stakes of the story and see what the idea is about; we see the promise of the premise and need not see anything else. I also call it fun and games because this section is lighter in tone than other sections. So Jim Carrey gets to walk around and act like God in Bruce Almighty. And Tobey Maguire gets to try out his oddly onanistic super powers in Spider-Man. It's also where the buddies in all buddy movies do their most clashing. Get it?
Fun and games.
Learn it, love it, live it.
MIDPOINT (55)
There are two halves in a movie script and the midpoint on page 55 is the threshold between them. We can talk about the importance of the two act breaks, but to me the midpoint is as important, especially in the early going of laying
out a script's beats. I have found, in reviewing hundreds of movies, that a movie's midpoint is either an "up" where the hero seemingly peaks (though it is a false peak) or a "down" when the world collapses all around the hero (though it is a false collapse), and it can only get better from here on out. When you decide which midpoint your script is going to require, it's like nailing a spike into a wall good and hard. The clothesline that is your story can now be strung securely.
I made the discovery of how important this midpoint moment is quite by accident. In the early days of my movie-writing career, I used to audiotape movies so I could listen to them in my car when I drove back and forth to meetings between Santa Barbara and
L.A. The bargain-basement tapes I bought (I was dead flat broke at the time) had 45 minutes on each side. By coincidence, the drive between Santa Barbara and Los Angeles is divided evenly by a mountain overpass at exactly the midpoint of the drive. Forty-five minutes from starting each trip, as I hit the top of that hill, side A of each tape ended and I had to turn it over to the other side. One night I taped the old comedy classic What's Up, Doc?, directed by Peter Bogdanovich and starring Ryan O'Neal and Barbra Streisand. And I discovered, the next day as I topped the mountain crest, that the movie was perfectly, evenly divided into two halves and that its midpoint was a "down."
The first half of What's Up, Doc? ends as fire envelops O'Neal's hotel room. A slow fade brings us to the next day, as he wakes up a broken man, and finds... Barbra Streisand waiting to help him — the fire was, after all, her fault! Imagine the revelation I
experienced as I topped the mountain pass and the first half of What's Up, Doc? that I had taped came to an end. The movie had two even halves! The power and the purpose of a strong midpoint was forever clear to me.
After that I began to see how many movies had midpoints that changed the whole dynamic of the film. But the midpoint does more than present an "up" or "down." You will hear the phrase "the stakes are raised at the midpoint" in a lot of script meetings. Because they are. It's the point where the fun and games are over. It's back to the story! It's also the point where if you have a "false victory" where, say, the hero has been given an Out-of-the-Bottle bit of magic, he gets everything he thinks he wants. But it's a false victory because the hero has a ways to go before he learns the lesson he really needs. It just seems like everything's great.
The midpoint has a matching beat in the BS? on Page 75 called "All Is Lost," which is described as "false defeat." These two points are a set. It's because the two beats are the inverse of each other. The rule is: It's never as good as it seems to be at the midpoint and it's never as bad as it seems at the All Is Lost point. Or vice versa! In the What's Up, Doc? example, Ryan O'Neal actually wins the coveted prize at the All Is Lost moment on page 75. But it is a false victory, tainted by the rogue's gallery of crooks descending on the awards ceremony, and setting the action of Act Three into motion. The midpoint and All Is Lost moments of What's Up, Doc ? represent those for a "down" midpoint. The midpoint is either false victory or false defeat, and the All Is Lost is the opposite of it.
Don't believe me?
Check out the movies you rented in your genre and see if this midpoint-All Is Lost axis isn't in every single one.
BAD GUYS CLOSE IN (55-75)
The section of script from page 55 to page 75, the midpoint to the All Is Lost, is the toughest part of the screenplay. (There's a hard bit of truth for you!) It never fails to be the most challenging for me, and there's no method to get through it other than to just to muscle your way.
This is where your skills as a bullhead come in handy!
The term "Bad Guys Close In" applies to the situation the hero finds himself in at midpoint. All seems fine, but even though the bad guys — be they people, a phenomenon, or a thing — are temporarily defeated, and the hero's team seems to be in perfect sync, we're not done yet. This is the point where the bad guys decide to regroup and send in the heavy artillery. It's the point where internal dissent, doubt, and jealousy begin to disintegrate the hero's team.
I've never had an easy time with Bad Guys Close In. It's the weakest part of Blank Check, and Colby and I were convinced at the time that it was fatal to our story. While writing a teen comedy called Really Mean Girls with Sheldon Bull, we had a similarly hard time with this section. (Not to mention the fact that we didn't know Tina Fey was writing Mean Girls already!) In our very similar story, four underdog girls decide to fight back against the evil blonde Alpha females in their high school. By midpoint they have "out-bitched" them, sent the mean girls packing, and become the superior clique in school. Well, now what? Sheldon and I didn't have a clue.
We answered that question, after a lot of painful think time, by going back to the basics. The evil girls naturally re-group. We even wrote a very funny scene where we see them do that. Then internal dissent among our heroes begins. Popularity starts to go to their heads, each begins to take credit for their victory, and the question of who is the most popular divides them. By All Is Lost, it's the reverse of the way it is at midpoint — the evil girls resume their "rightful" place, and our heroes depart the field in shame. All is really lost.
That simple dynamic took us weeks to figure out. It only seems obvious now. Until we solved it, we didn't know.
That is a classic example of what should happen in the Bad Guys Close In section of any script. The forces that are aligned against the hero, internal and external, tighten their grip. Evil is not giving up, and there is nowhere for the hero to go for help. He is on his own and must endure. He is headed for a huge fall, and that brings us to...
ALL IS LOST (75)
As addressed above, the All Is Lost point occurs on page 75 of agood, well-structured screenplay. We know it is the opposite of the midpoint in terms of an "up" or a "down. " It's also the point of the script most often labeled "false defeat," for even though all looks black, it's just temporary. But it seems like a total defeat. All aspects of the hero's life are in shambles. Wreckage abounds. No hope.
But here's my little trade secret that I put into every All Is Lost moment just for added spice, and it's something that many hit movies have. I call it the whiff of death.
I started to notice how many great movies use the All Is Lost point to kill someone. Obi Wan in Star Wars is the best example — what will Luke do now?? All Is Lost is the place where mentors go to die, presumably so their students can discover "they had it in them all along." The mentor's death clears the way to prove that.
But what if you don't have an Obi Wan character? What if death isn't anywhere near your story? Doesn't matter. At the All Is Lost moment, stick in something, anything that involves a death. It works every time. Whether it's integral to the story or just something symbolic, hint at something dead here. It could be anything. A flower in a flower pot. A goldfish. News that a beloved aunt has passed away. It's all the same. The reason is that the All Is Lost beat is the "Christ on the cross" moment. It's where the old world, the old character, the old way of thinking dies. And it clears the way for the fusion of thesis — what was — and antithesis — the upside down version of what was — to become synthesis, that being a new world, a new life. And the thing you show dying, even a goldfish, will resonate and make that All Is Lost moment all the more poignant.
You'd be surprised where this truism shows up. In the comedy hit Elf, starring Will Ferrell, the filmmakers stick exactly to the BS2 and there is even a moment where the whiff of death is clearly seen.
In that story, about a human (Will) raised as an elf in Santa Claus's North Pole, Will comes to New York to find his "real dad," James Caan. The hilarious upside-down world of Act Two includes a classic anti-thesis character, Will's love interest, who is working as a "fake" elf in a department store at Christmas time. But later, when it all goes to hell one night for poor Will, when his real father rejects him and the world gets too complicated, we even have a death moment at page 75. Will pauses on a city bridge and, looking out at the water waaaay bel
ow, clearly contemplates suicide. When I saw this film in the theater I practically yelled out "See! Whiff of death! " but managed to restrain myself. And yet, there it was, plain as day.
Take a look at your dozen movies you've screened and find the All Is Lost point. Does it have the whiff of death in some aspect? Most certainly it will. All good, primal stories must have this. It resonates for a reason.
DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL (75-85)
So now you're in the middle of a death moment at the All Is Lost point, but how does your character experiencing this moment feel about it? This question is answered in a section of the screenplay I call Dark Night of the Soul. It can last five seconds or five minutes. But it's in there. And it's vital. It's the point, as the name suggests, that is the darkness right before the dawn. It is the point just before the hero reaches way, deep down and pulls out that last, best idea that will save himself and everyone around him. But at the moment, that idea is nowhere in sight.
I don't know why we have to see this moment, but we do. It's the "Oh Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?" beat. I think it works because, once again, it's primal. We've all been there — hopeless, clueless, drunk, and stupid — sitting on the side of the road with a
flat tire and four cents, late for the big appointment that will save our lives. Then and only then, when we admit our humility and our humanity, and yield our control of events over to Fate, do we find the solution. We must be beaten and know it to get the lesson.
The Dark Night of the Soul is that point. It's in comedies and dramas because it's real and we all identify. And in a good, well-structured screenplay, it's in there between pages 75 and 85. And thank God, because by page 85, when the hero finally figures it out, we get to see him realize...
