Breaking In: The Top l0 Lame-O Excuses For Why You Can’t Sell Your Screenplay (And How to

Stop Making Them)

 March 4, 2013 2:40 pm

 Staton Rabin

Rating: +6 (from 6 votes)

What do you call the guy from the 7th Cavalry regiment who, at the Battle of the Little Bighorn, said,
“General Custer, reinforcements are on the way”?

An optimist.

I admit that when it comes to assessing another type of seemingly “hopeless” situation– a new writer’s
chances of selling his script– I’m an optimist too. But unlike that apocryphal guy at the Little Bighorn, I’m a
realistic optimist. I know what it really takes to sell a screenplay.

Writers give me excuses all the time for why their scripts haven’t sold. The only one I haven’t heard yet is:
“The velociraptor ate my screenplay.”

The good news is that if you have a great screenplay, pitch it effectively, and have emotional intelligence
and persistence in marketing it, selling a script (or being hired to write one) is a very achievable goal. But
first you’ve got to be willing to ditch the excuses, and replace them with a more effective way of thinking.

Here are the ten worst excuses for why your screenplay hasn’t sold (yet!) and how to talk yourself out of
them:

1) “PEOPLE IN HOLLYWOOD ARE ONLY INTERESTED IN MAKING ‘JUNK’.”

Director/producers like Steven Spielberg and movie star producers like Tom Hanks don’t make junk.
There’s a lot of junk out there. If you write a great screenplay, you immediately set yourself apart from the
pack. Yes, it’s challenging to get A-list people– who are always looking for great material– to read your
script. But there’s always a way, and it doesn’t involve showing up uninvited and disguised as a clown at
their kids’ birthday parties. Anyone who works in this business will tell you there aren’t enough great scripts
out there with roles that stars would be thrilled to play. That’s why A-listers are sometimes willing to take a
chance on a talented new screenwriter, as Jeff Bridges did with Scott Cooper, who wrote and directed his
film, Crazy Heart, which won Bridges an Oscar.

2) “I DON’T HAVE ANY CONTACTS.” When it comes to screenwriting, Hollywood is the most merit-
based business imaginable. Do you really think that a film studio is going to invest l00 million dollars in a
movie based on your script just because you know Tom Cruise’s dry cleaner? As a screenwriter trying to
break in, you need passionate advocates with clout who have actually read and love your script and work in
the business; not “connections” or contacts. Knowing that dry cleaner is not going to get your script
produced. It’s not even going to get you a meeting. And if your script happens to land on Mr. Cruise’s
doorstep, he’s probably not going to read it unless it comes with a recommendation from someone in the
business whose opinion he trusts. Persuading powerful film industry professionals to read your script, who
then become powerful advocates for you and your work, is the key to success. You don’t have to know these
people or have a “contact” at their office (though of course it’s helpful if you do). Just send them a superbly
well-written query/pitch letter, asking for permission to submit your script.

3) “I DON’T HAVE AN AGENT OR MANAGER.” You don’t need one. And, truth be told, you’re not
going to be able to get one worth having at this early stage of your career. As a newbie screenwriter, it’ll be
harder for you to find a powerful agent who is willing to represent you, than it would be to find a producer
willing to option your screenplay. If you get a legitimate offer for your script, you can always hire an
entertainment attorney or agent to close the deal for you. In the meantime, learn how to write a query/pitch
letter, go to “pitch slams” (there’s one coming up April 5-7, 2013 in New York at Screenwriters World;
hope to see you there), and do your own marketing for a client whose work you really love and truly believe
in: You.

4) “THE SCRIPT READERS ARE IDIOTS.” Well, speaking as one of those “idiots”, I may be biased.
But I’ve been doing this job for over three decades, and know other professional script readers, too. I have
yet to meet one of these folks who is actually an idiot. Most of us are successful screenwriters or book
authors who happen to “moonlight” as script analysts. Many work for major film production companies and
agencies, and/or teach screenwriting at top universities. And we’re experienced at spotting “gold” among the
dross. There’s no way that a great script is going to escape our notice.

5) “I DON’T HAVE TIME TO MARKET MY SCRIPT.” Look, we’re all busy with our day jobs and our
families. But, no time to sell your script? That’s like a baker saying, “I have time to make this bread from
scratch, but I don’t have enough time to let it rise or bake it in the oven.” Well, the last time anybody
legitimately had that excuse was the Israelites when they were fleeing Egypt (which is how they invented
the matzoh. But that’s a whole other story). A script is just a blueprint for a movie; it is not a movie. Until
you sell it, your job is not done (and even then, you’re going to have to do rewrites). If you’re a
screenwriter, marketing your script is part of your job description. Come on, now. Get going.

6) “THEY’RE NOT BUYING ANYTHING IN MY GENRE.” True, it’s harder to sell a drama, war
movie, or “costume picture” than it is an equally good comedy or thriller. And when rejecting your script,
producers may tell you that they won’t buy anything in “your” genre. But is it really true? Nope. What about
Argo, The Hurt Locker, Crazy Heart, The King’s Speech, Titanic – or that silent movie, The Artist, for
heaven’s sake? Most of the films that ultimately win Oscars are in those supposedly “hard-to-sell”
categories. If you write a great script– a truly great script– and market it intelligently, you have an excellent
chance of selling it or getting a writing assignment out of it eventually, no matter what genre it’s in. Period.
Also consider the global nature of film. Might a European or Asian producer or director be better suited to
your material? Consider trying to get a big star or A-list director “attached” to your script. That’s the single
best thing you can do to improve the chances of selling your script.

7) “PRODUCERS ARE ONLY INTERESTED IN HIGH-CONCEPT IDEAS.” Yes, people in

Hollywood are interested in surefire, slam-dunk commercial concepts that can be easily pitched in one
sentence. But most high-concept ideas are executed so poorly that the central idea becomes almost
worthless. Not every screenwriter is the high-concept type. A commercial concept is great if you have one,
and makes it much easier to pitch and sell your script, but isn’t mandatory as long as your script has a solid
structure and the pitch promises enough dramatic conflict to be the basis of a movie. Some of the most
magical movies ever made don’t have a “catchy”, easily pitchable commercial idea at their core. If you have
the kind of story that only really impresses people when they actually read your screenplay– you might try
pitching it to producers in person instead of via a query letter. Try going to “pitch slams” or “pitchfests”.

8) “THERE IS TOO MUCH COMPETITION.” Yes, there are a lot of screenwriters and scripts out there
vying for producers’ attention. But there aren’t a lot of truly great scripts or great writers. If you are a gifted
screenwriter who is willing to work hard to sell your script, you have a tremendous advantage over other
writers who are trying to break in. Polite persistence, emotional intelligence in how you approach people,
and a high tolerance for “rejections” or non-replies, also help.

9) “I DON’T WANT TO REWRITE MY SCRIPT.” You don’t have to rewrite your script. But if it needs
a rewrite and you refuse to do this, and you’re also unwilling to sign a deal that allows the producers to hire
somebody else to rewrite it at some point if they want to, it will be impossible to sell your script and have a
screenwriting career in Hollywood.

10) “I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO STEAL MY IDEA.” If you want to make an omelette, you have to
break some eggs. If you want to sell your screenplay, you have to pitch it. Register your script’s copyright
with the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., and then go out and pitch it. Nobody is going to “steal
your idea”. Ideas are usually worthless anyway– it’s mostly the execution that counts– and you can’t
copyright an idea. That said, if you have a high-concept idea, I wouldn’t post it on the internet. But in order
to sell your screenplay, you can’t keep it as secret as the nuclear launch codes.

No more lame-o excuses.

Keep pitching. See you next time.

Alt Script: You Are Not Tarantino or Kevin Smith

 March 1, 2013 8:04 am

 Clive Davies-Frayne

The past couple of weeks I’ve had five or six fairly futile stabs at writing an article about the importance of niche cinema, with each one less to the point
and less satisfying than the one before. It happens. Sometimes I know what I want to say, but am not sure how to say it.

In screenwriting and the film industry it’s really difficult to present an alternative view point, without it
sounding like an attack on conventional thinking, which I don’t want to do. The irony of this is, the point I
want to make is precisely that, it is about attacking conventional thinking. However, at the same time it’s
not. Hence the difficulty. Just how do you say, “things need to be torn down and changed,” without saying,
“the industry’s way of working is BS?”

And then the coolest thing happened, industry insider and pro script reader “Bitter Script Reader” (BSR)
made all the points I wanted to make, whilst coming to a set of conclusions which were precisely what I
wanted to both explain and challenge. Which was nice.

BSR’s article is called “You Are Not Tarantino”. I strongly recommend you read it.

The first thing I want to make clear is that everything BSR writes in his piece is bang on the money. People
who want to submit spec scripts should know how to play by the rules, and, at the same time, should also
understand the price you pay for not playing by them. As BSR points out Tarantino’s early career was
dogged by a series of fairly brutal rejections, simply because his script wasn’t recognisable as a script by
readers. He illustrates this with a quote from the recent Vanity Fair article about the making of Pulp Fiction,
by the very talented Mark Seal.

“In 1986, Tarantino was a 23-year-old part-time actor and high-school dropout, broke, without an
apartment of his own, showering rarely. With no agent, he sent out scripts that never got past low-level
readers. “Too vile, too vulgar, too violent” was the usual reaction, he later said. According to Quentin
Tarantino, by Wensley Clarkson, his constant use of the f-word in his script ‘True Romance’ caused one
studio rep to write to Cathryn Jaymes, his early manager:

Dear Fucking Cathryn, How dare you send me this fucking piece of shit. You must be out of your fucking
mind. You want to know how I feel about it? Here’s your fucking piece of shit back. Fuck you.”

As an alt-cinema writer I love this anecdote because it neatly explains precisely why alt-cinema is important.
It’s important because history has proven that Tarantino was right to write what he did, the way he did. At
the same time I also believe the studio rep was absolutely right to reject his early scripts. I know that may
sound an odd thing to say, when taken in the context of his following successes. Isn’t the studio rep’s job to
spot the genius presented, regardless of the way in which it turned up and regardless of the fact that
everything on the page flew in the face of conventional thinking?

Nope. No. Not in the slightest. That was, isn’t and never will be what their job is. The job of the gatekeeper
isn’t to uncover unconventional approaches to screenwriting, and the industry doesn’t exist to innovate. The
industry exists, quite simply, to create mass market products which fill cinemas and sell popcorn. And, the
way the industry does this by sticking rigidly to three basic rules:

 If something worked, do it again, and again, and again

  If someone makes money doing something you don’t understand, hire them
 Once you understand how they do it, apply rule one

Which brings me to the point I wanted to get to, which is, most of the things you will be told to do to
succeed as a screenwriter, by either script gurus and industry script readers, came into the industry because
an artist/film-maker made money or gained public approval by doing something the industry didn’t
understand. These mavericks and independents, wrote scripts and made films no one at the heart of the
mainstream industry could or would put into production. By doing that, successfully, they forced the
industry to reconsider what the rules were and what was possible. Today’s conventional “this this how it is
done” thinking, was yesterday’s “mad as bats” alt-cinema.

Did you know that there was a time in cinema history when it would have been inconceivable for anyone
within the industry to shoot movies on location or to attempt realism in cinema. At that point in cinema
history, the industry believed that cinema needed to be glamorous, epic and completely synthetic. It was
independent filmmakers who changed that, by making better and more interesting movies by adding the
realism of location shooting, and by telling the stories of everyday folk.

So, what does this mean?

Well, in the first place it means that there are always two different kinds of screenwriters.

The first kind are artisan-screenwriters. These are the kind of writers whose skills lie in finding interesting
ways to interrupt conventional wisdom, as it exists in the industry, at that point in cinema history. In 1940’s
Italy, that meant studio epics with lots of togas and horses. In present day Hollywood, it means ticking all
the boxes a script reader needs to tick. BSR’s articles are written to elucidate and educate artisan-
screenwriters, as are most of the books written to teach you how it’s done. Script readers and script gurus all
live and die by the rigid application of rule one.

The second kind of screenwriters are the artist-mavericks. These are the screenwriters who don’t give a
flying-monkey’s nut about character arcs or plot points, they come to the party with a specific vision of what
a film could be like if you just did X. X in this case being the interesting thing the writer has in their head. X
also being the one thing that no script reader would ever pass up the line, the idea that no industry insider
would ever finance.

If you want to be a successful artisan-screenwriter BSR is right, you are NOT Tarantino. You’re not
required to change cinema or bring a unique vision to the screen, you are required to turn out good product.
Your job is to help the industry apply rule number one: if it worked before, do it again.

What the industry requires from its artisans are competence and a willingness to know their place. You get
the pay cheque, but you get that by playing nicely with others, dotting your “i’s” and crossing your “t’s.” If
your ambitions are to be a successful artisan-screenwriter, then when you get notes about typos or unrealistic
dialogue, the one thing you are not allowed to say is “Tarantino does this.”

Now, ironically, if your ambition is to be a successful artist-maverick, then you are also NOT Tarantino.
You’re not Kevin Smith. You are not Charlie Kaufman. The industry already has a QT, it already has a
Kevin Smith, it already has a Woody Allen, it already has a David Lynch, it already has a Charlie Kaufman.
The industry doesn’t need or want more than one of those guys. If you want to be a rule breaker and a
maverick, you have to present your unique vision of cinema, the emphasis being on the unique element.
Show the world a movie we’ve never seen before and change our view of what is possible. Smash the rules
to little bits and have all the script gurus saying “Well, X is unique, her work stands alone. The rules don’t
apply.” The only thing is, don’t expect the industry to financially support your experiments, until you’ve
shown them that a buck can be turned from it.
The bottom line is that the industry is a mass market industry, it is about making the films that pretty much
anyone can enjoy. Maverick talents are always niche. They always split audiences into those who love what
they do and those who hate it.

Over the last ten years, just as digital technology has brought down production prices to pennies, the
mainstream industry has retreated further and further into rule one. The industry is currently more
conservative and more risk adverse than it has ever been. The industry isn’t looking for the next Tarantino,
anymore. And, the industry will stay that way until the day some new alt-cinema film-maker makes the
industry’s ideas about how you make a film look cliched and dated.

BSR’s primary conclusion was that screenwriters should stop bitching about being told to play by the rules
and play by the rules. That is very good advice for anyone looking to make a name and a living in the
industry.

My conclusions are different. I believe that whether the industry is prepared to finance it or not, cinema
needs a constant battering from new ideas and new talents. The rules the industry applies to make movies
need constant refreshing and savagely challenging. We need to write and make the movies that the industry
doesn’t even know that it wants to make, yet. We need to write the scripts they will hate, and make the films
they won’t take a risk on. And, the great news is that there has never been a better time to do that. Now is
the time to write the best scripts we can, and to produce them ourselves.

My final thought is a question:

Given that cinema needs to constantly evolve, if it isn’t to become stale and tedious, what kind of movies
should we be making?

The thing I love most about this question is that I don’t have the answer. I have some ideas I want to play
with as a writer, but the thing that excites me most is wondering what incredible things you guys are going
to show me over the next ten years, because in my opinion the next ten years will see an explosion of
paradigm changing alt-cinema, the like of which we haven’t seen since the 1970s. And, if I am right, how
cool will that be?

Meet the Reader: The Dark Side

 September 7, 2012 5:21 am

 Ray Morton

Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)

Last month I wrote a column on how to deal well with the critiques and criticisms of your screenwriting.
After the column posted, I was taken to task by a few people for painting too rosy a picture of the industry.
Most of these brickbats were triggered by this paragraph:

Keep in mind that everyone’s just trying to help: When industry professionals criticize your script, their goal
is to make the piece better, not to hurt your feelings. Now, some may deliver their comments in a clumsy or
indelicate manner, which can certainly make them feel like personal attacks, but you can take out a lot of the
sting if you keep in mind that, even if your reviewer’s manner is inartful, his/her intentions are probably
good. Remember, everyone in the industry wants to find or develop a great script – no one’s out to
discourage anyone just for fun or to dump on a piece of material arbitrarily.

A number of my critics accused me of living in a fantasy world for suggesting industry professionals are
generally so helpful; so well intentioned; and so concerned with quality.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have been more specific and said that once you are in the arena – once a
manager or a producer or a studio has made the decision to go ahead and develop your script – I honestly do
think everyone’s primary goal does become to generate the best result possible and that everyone’s efforts –
comments, notes, rewrite requests, etc. – are directed towards achieving this.

Now, that certainly doesn’t mean everything’s going to be smooth sailing. As in any creative enterprise,
there are bound to be variations in taste, differences of opinion (often beginning with just what the definition
of the “best possible result” is – for some that might mean the most artistic screenplay possible; for others it
might mean the most commercial; for others it might mean the script that can attract the biggest star or be
produced for the least amount of money, etc.), power plays (usually to determine who has the final say in
these disagreements), and so on that can generate tension, argument, and (sometimes) bad behavior – but in
general I think it’s safe to say that once everybody’s on board, their intentions are usually honorable. That’s
been my experience, anyway.

However, that does not mean there’s not a dark side to the screenwriting profession, because there obviously
and most certainly is. There’s a lot of bad stuff out there, both in and out of the arena, beginning with:

Bad Manners: For some reason, a lot of people in the entertainment business don’t always feel the need to
observe the general etiquette, courtesies, and simple human decency that tend to govern the majority of our
professional and social interactions.

So, while there are many, many very nice, very polite, and very considerate folks in Hollywood (and there
really are), there is also a fairly high percentage of people who won’t get back to you about important
matters even though they’ve promised you that they will; who have no problem leaving you hanging for
days and weeks and months and sometimes even forever; who dispense attitude (condescending, dismissive,
and sometimes just plain mean) like bon bons, especially to people they consider “nobodies” (years ago,
when I was a p.a. in New York, I spent an entire day escorting the flown-in-from-Hollywood guest star of
the series I was working on around the city to help her get settled and she never once acknowledged my
existence. Several years later, this same actress was cast in a project I had written and she spent the whole
time fawning over me, never realizing that I was the “nobody” she refused to speak to in Manhattan —
something I found both amusing and sad.); who don’t respect your time the same way that they demand that
their time be respected. (I once spent three hours in an exec’s outer office waiting to pitch, and then watched
incredulously as he walked out a side door and went to lunch.) For some miscreants, this sort of behavior
transcends rudeness and approaches sociopathy as they seem to take great relish in treating people badly:
insulting them (as the sitcom showrunner who openly mocked me and my ideas – by laughing derisively,
making pained faces, and producing loud gagging noises — as I was pitching them once did to me), forcing
them to do demeaning things, etc.

I’m not clear why this sort of behavior is tolerated as much as it is in Hollywood – perhaps because
achieving success in such a competitive, high profile, and sought after industry makes people think they are
special in some way that means the rules don’t apply to them — but it is.

Exploitation: There are a lot of people out there looking to take advantage of up-and-coming screenwriters,
from the low rent producers who try to cajole writers desperately looking for their big break into working for
free (in exchange for “sweat equity” in profits that the producer promises will be bountiful and that I
guarantee you will never see) and their evil cousins, the Craig’s List trolls who offer writers $500 to turn the
trolls’ supposedly brilliant ideas into screenplays that the trolls then hope to sell for big bucks with the
intention of keeping all or most of the credit and all or most of the money; to high-profile internet “studios”
that require you to sign away all of the rights to your work before they’ll even let you submit your script,
then offer to develop and produce your script in exchange for paltry fees far below WGA minimums and no
profit participation; the script “gurus” who require their clients to give them a large piece of the sale of any
script they consult on; to the sponsors of certain shady screenwriting “competitions” in which every entrant
ends up as a finalist as long as they agree to purchase expensive tickets to the competition’s “awards gala;”
to the “talent representatives” and “career consultants” who charge large upfront fees for their dubious
services rather than take a modest percentage of the money earned for the jobs they procure for their clients,
the way reputable managers and agents do.
Things aren’t much better for established screenwriters these days, with the studios pressuring some of the
biggest scribes in the business to accept lower fees and one step deals, to do free rewrites, and to jump
through more and more hoops (including participating in pitching competitions with half a dozen other
writers on a single project and having to generate detailed, treatment-length leave behinds) in order to get
jobs, while dragging their heels when it comes to completing contracts and paying off on fees, residuals, and
profits. The WGA can provide some protection for its members against these abuses, but with fewer and
fewer assignments being offered in a difficulty economy, there’s a lot of motivation for writers to not make
waves.

Treachery: Yes, there are people out there who will lie to you if it benefits them; who will promise things
they can’t (or have no intention to) deliver; who will plot to kill projects and careers if they see an advantage
in doing so; who will steal opportunities that rightfully belong to you without giving it a second thought.
And yes, there are people who will steal your ideas. It’s happened to me three times:

 The first was when I was just starting out and was very naïve. A friend who worked in development
at a mini-major gave me a screenplay to read that the company was having trouble getting to work.
Seeing a potential opportunity, I wrote up several pages of potential fixes, hoping that if my friend’s
bosses liked my proposals, they would hire me to rewrite the script. Well, they liked them all right –
every single one of my suggestions (including a really major MacGuffin) ended up in the finished
film, but I never got the gig, credit, money, or even a thank you.

 The second was when a writing partner and I pitched several story ideas to the showrunner of a
cheesy syndicated sitcom. One idea in particular really tickled the showrunner’s fancy and he
couldn’t stop telling us how brilliant we were and how amazing our concept was (it wasn’t – it was
just competent, but on this sucky show, competence = Mozart). As we left, the showrunner said he
would be in touch and we naturally assumed that we had sold the pitch. So imagine our surprise
when the guy’s assistant called us the next day to inform us that after we left the showrunner
suddenly remembered that he and his staff were already working on a script with the exact same
premise, so our services would not be required. Uh huh.

 The third was when a famous and successful (if not particularly talented) writer/director/actor with
whom my then-partner and I shared an agency and who had been offered a script of ours to direct
came out with a film that lifted not only our script’s premise, but a number of major scenes and the
story’s single most important plot twist. Our (now-ex) agent claimed it was a coincidence. He then
tried to sell us the Brooklyn Bridge.

In all three cases, there wasn’t much I could do about the thefts. Yes, I could have made a stink with the
WGA or I could have hired a lawyer and taken the perpetrators to court. I might have even prevailed, but the
cost would have been my career – Hollywood is a town that doesn’t like people who make waves and tends
to punish them, even if those people are completely in the right. If you don’t believe me, just ask the late
Cliff Robertson.

So, now that I’ve dumped all of this sunshine on you, what do you do about it?

Well, I suppose you could let it discourage you and drive you out of the business, but I hope you don’t. This
is a tough business and tough businesses come with tough conditions, but it’s also a wonderful business
filled with many wonderful things, including glamour; fun; smart, fascinating people who are kind,
respectful, interested, and helpful; the opportunity to be creative and to (sometimes) do satisfying and even
significant work; and (best of all) the chance to make movies. How do you handle the bad stuff?

 Don’t be naïve: know this stuff is out there and stay alert (without becoming defensive or paranoid,
which can only trip you up).

 Protect yourself: copyright your material, register it with the WGA, and if things start cooking for
you, get a lawyer.
  Work hard: at your writing and at all of the other things you need to build a screenwriting career
(networking, making contacts, writing query letters, sending out submissions, etc.). There are no
shortcuts and looking for them can make you vulnerable to those looking to take advantage.

 Find healthy ways to handle downturns: surround yourself with good friends, wise counsel, and a
decent therapist to help you deal well with the large amount of rudeness, rejection, and
disappointment that will inevitably come your way as you attempt to forge your career. If you don’t,
you run the risk of becoming discouraged and bitter, which can send you looking for shortcuts
and…well, you know the rest.

 Have faith: there are a lot of great people and legitimate opportunity out there. Hang in there, keep
pushing, and, if you have the goods, you’ll get there.

Bookshelf

Here are a few new or recent books of interest to screenwriters:

Writing with Hitchcock: The Collaboration of Alfred Hitchcock and John Michael Hayes by Steven DeRosa
(CineScribe Media, New York 2011). This is a new, slightly expanded edition of DeRosa’s excellent 2001
book about the collaboration that produced Rear Window, To Catch a Thief, The Trouble with Harry, and
The Man Who Knew Too Much. This terrific tome gives us a fascinating look at the working methods of one
of the greatest filmmakers of all time, shines a long overdue spotlight on one of the greatest (and most
unsung) screenwriters of all time, and provides a wealth of information and detail about the making of four
classic films.

Writing in Pictures: Screenwriting Made (Mostly) Painless by Joseph McBride (Vintage Books, New York.
2012). Although the author himself poses the question “who needs another book on screenwriting” in the
introduction to this well-crafted volume, what makes screenwriter (Rock ‘n’ Roll High School), critic, film
historian, and biographer (Frank Capra: The Catastrophe of Success) McBride’s book a worthy addition to
your screenwriting library is his welcome emphasis on the writing part of screenwriting. McBride eschews
the formulas, tricks, steps, and “secrets” that clutter up most screenwriting “how to” tomes in favor of a
straightforward, gimmick-free discussion of the art and craft of putting words on paper and how to apply
those concepts to the task of writing for the screen. The book’s only real flaw is that McBride has chosen an
extremely undramatic and uncinematic short story (Jack London’s “To Build a Fire”) to use as the basis for
the sample screenplay that he constructs to illustrate the lessons he is imparting and the final product suffers
as a result (like the short story, the sample script lacks adequate drama and cinematic qualities). That
problem aside, Writing in Pictures provides screenwriters with a number of useful tips and some solid food
for thought.

My Life as a Mankiewicz: An Insider’s Journey Through Hollywood by Tom Mankiewicz and Robert Crane
(University of Kentucky Press, 2012). To regular readers of this column, it is no secret that I am a huge
admirer of the work of the late screenwriter Tom Mankiewicz, the son of the Oscar-winning writer/director
Joseph L. Mankiewicz (All About Eve) and nephew of Herman J. Mankiewicz (Citizen Kane), the man who
rebooted the James Bond series in the 1970s, and the key (if uncredited) screenwriter of 1978’s classic
Superman: The Movie. Mankiewicz was working on this book when I interviewed him in 2009 and I am
glad to see that, despite his death from pancreatic cancer in 2010, it has finally been completed (by Robert
Crane). My Life as a Mankiewicz chronicles Tom’s fascinating life, which brought him into contact with
many (if not all) of the major showbusiness figures of the second half of the twentieth century, including
John Wayne, Gene Kelly, Sean Connery, and Marlon Brando, all of whom he discusses in a string of
entertaining and affectionate anecdotes. It also chronicles his work life in the colorful worlds of 007 and the
Man of Steel, on television as the creator of a number of innovative musical specials and Hart to Hart, as
Hollywood’s most sought after script doctor, as the prime creative force behind 1976’s underappreciated
black comedy Mother, Jugs, and Speed, and as the director of 1987’s Dragnet. The book also honestly
depicts the unhappier aspects of Mankiweicz’s life and career, including a difficult (and sometimes tragic)
youth, a busy if often-frustrating love life, and the industry politics and chicanery that led to the decline of
his once-illustrious career. Like Tom himself, the book is witty, entertaining, and generous and well worth
your time and attention.

Meet the Reader: How I Do What I Do

 October 5, 2012 6:00 am

 Ray Morton

I am frequently asked how I go about the task of assessing and analyzing a screenplay, so I thought it might
be interesting and (hopefully) informative to do a column explaining my process.

Obviously, the first thing I do is read the script. I always do this in one sitting so I can experience the story
from beginning to end in a single go, the same way the audience would experience it if the script was made
into a movie. This helps me get a sense of how the script will play as a film.

I keep a yellow pad with me as I read so I can jot down things that jump out at me as I go: a great concept,
scene, joke, twist, line, or bit of action; an obvious mistake or problem; something that’s not clear or I don’t
understand; a technical or formatting issue. I don’t spend a lot of time on these jottings; they’re just notes I
use for future reference when I craft my analysis.

I only read the script once. If I am analyzing a piece for a producer or a production company or a
screenwriting contest, I only look at a piece one time because that’s all I have time for (and, frankly, all that
I am paid to do). If I am consulting with a private client, I only go over a screenplay once because that’s all
any production company reader, producer, development person, or creative exec is going to do, and I need to
experience the piece the way they will if I am going to be able to give my client good and helpful advice. If
something isn’t clear or doesn’t make sense on the initial read, then I have to let my client know that so
she/he can fix the problem so the entire piece will land the first time around, since that’s the only chance
they are going to get to make an impression with their script.

I know some writers don’t like this — I once had a client become furious with me because he felt I missed
what he considered to be the main point of his screenplay. I had to go back and reread one particular section
four times before I finally found the one line he felt crystallized his work (it didn’t). He did not buy my
argument that his script needed to work without readers having to flip back and forth numerous times
because no industry professional was ever going to do this. He also didn’t buy my argument that a script had
to work all the way through the first time because viewers of any movie made from it would not be able to
rewind the piece (at least not in the theater) several times to figure out something if it was confusing or
unclear. He just thought I was a lazy dumbass.

Once I finish the script, I put it down and walk away for a while. I go off and do something physical or
relatively mindless, such as go for a walk or run errands or clean the bathroom, and I use that time to clarify
my overall impressions of the script. Did I like it or didn’t I? Was the story interesting? Was it funny or
scary or romantic or exciting or whatever else it was supposed to be? Did it keep my attention all the way
through or was I bored? Did I care about the characters? Most of all — was I moved? The last is the single
most important factor in my analysis of a screenplay. I read a ton of scripts and most of them do absolutely
nothing for me, so if one provokes a strong emotional reaction – if it makes me happy or if it makes me cry
or if it makes me angry or if it scares me to death – then I know there’s something special going on and am
apt to give it a “Consider” and possibly even a “Recommend” even if the piece has problems because, for
me, movies are ultimately about emotion and any script that can inspire one is going to be worth any of the
work required to get it into shape. Conversely, a script can be perfectly conceived and executed, with no
problems or rough edges of any sort, but if it doesn’t move me in some significant way, then I am probably
going to pass.

Once I’ve mulled things over for a bit, it’s time to get to work. If the assignment requires a synopsis (the
coverage that I do for producers and production companies usually does. Private coverage usually doesn’t),
then I do that first. Writing synopses is by far my least favorite part of the assessment process. Why?
Because to be useful, a synopsis has to be clear and simple and it needs to make sense. This is easy enough
to accomplish when the script itself is clear and simple and makes sense. However, a large majority of the
specs I read do not make sense – they are confused and convoluted and unfocused; they lack clear premises,
logical cause-and-effect, and an identifiable structure. Trying to wrestle an effective one or two-page
summation out of these nightmares is a real bear – it can often take hours to make something understandable
out of something that inherently isn’t and before long I find myself resenting the writer because I am putting
more time and effort into shaping a coherent narrative for his/her work than he/she ever did.

Once the synopsis is out of the way, then I begin the analysis proper. I break my assessment down into six
different categories:

 Premise: Does the script have one? (You’d be surprised by how many don’t). Does it have more
than one? (This is a common problem in many specs I read – way too many ideas thrown into the
mix, which leads to a lack of conceptual focus and cohesion.) Is the premise interesting? Is it
believable?

 Story: Is there one? (Note to writers: a bunch of scenes stuck together in the same set of pages is not
the same thing as a story.) Is it based on the premise? (A lot of specs spend a lot of time setting up a
specific concept and then go off and tell a completely unrelated tale.) Is it interesting? Interesting
enough to hold my attention for 90 – 120 pages? Is it properly dramatized? (Is the story told through
dramatic incident and action rather than just through dialogue?) Is it cinematic? (Is it told through
images, action, and dialogue and not just dialogue alone?) Is it well constructed? (Are there three
acts? An impressive inciting incident? Rising action that leads to an inevitable climax and
resolution? All that good stuff?) Is it well paced? Are the plot twists both surprising and logical? Are
the plot twists surprising or just confusing? Are the storytelling devices (flashbacks, narration, non-
linear storytelling, etc.) thematically and narratively relevant, or are they just gimmicks? Does the
ending properly resolve the script’s central problem and its conflicts? Is the ending satisfying?

 Characters: Do I like them (or at the very least sympathize with them)? Enough to want to spend
two hours with them? Do they serve strong, clear roles in the plot or are they superfluous to the
narrative? Do they seem like real people or are they just stock clichés? Are they well developed or
one note? Are the characters consistent throughout the piece or do they change constantly to fit the
needs of the plot? Are their arcs interesting, appropriate for the story, properly developed, and
satisfyingly resolved? Are the relationships between the characters interesting and believable.

 Dialogue: Do the characters talk the way people actually talk? If the speeches are stylized, is the
stylization effective or just pretentious? Do the lines express character, wit, poetry, humor, insight, or
philosophy or are they just vehicles for clumsy exposition? Are they crisp and sharp, or do they go
for pages and pages and pages?

 Writing: Are the descriptions clear, evocative, and effective, or are they opaque, flowery, and
clumsy? Is the writer working doing all he/she can do to relate the story to the reader as efficiently
and enthusiastically as possible or does he/she put all his/her effort into a smart-alecky writing style
that is momentarily amusing but adds nothing to the actual story being told. Are the stage directions
crisp or overly wordy? Are there big, giant blocks of text? (Warning: if there are – especially on page
1 – then I’m already looking for a reason to stop reading). Is the screenplay formatting and
terminology correct? Are the technical aspects of the writing (spelling, grammar, punctuation, etc.)
solid?

I then do an overall evaluation of the entire piece, summarizing its strong and weak points and offering an
assessment of the script’s potential commercial appeal based on current market conditions and trends. To
complete the coverage, I fill out the cover sheet, which includes a checklist in which I rate the various
aspects of the script on a scale from Poor to Excellent.
The last box I check is the one that indicates my opinion as to what should be done with the script. There are
three possible options:

 PASS: this means that I don’t think the producer/production company I am reading for should
proceed with the script – that the subject matter is not suitable for the producer/prodco’s needs and/or
that the execution of the script is flawed enough that it wouldn’t be worth the time, effort, and money
it would take to get the piece in shape. I check this box for approximately 95% of the scripts I
evaluate.

 CONSIDER: this means that the script is promising enough – either in concept, execution, or both –
that it is worth giving some thought to proceed with– but problematic enough that it’s going to take
time, effort, and money to get it to work. I’d say I’ve checked this box for approximately 4% of the
scripts I have read in the fifteen-plus years I have been doing this, although I’ve checked it less in
recent years because most of my clients (and the industry as a whole) are less willing to put the time
and effort and (especially) money into honing promising-but-flawed material these days. With
development budgets being cut drastically all over town, they’re looking for projects that are as
camera ready as possible.

 RECOMMEND: this means that I think both the subject matter and the execution of the script are
slam dunks and that the producer/prodco should go forward with the piece immediately and without
reservation. Since checking this box means that I feel that the producer/company should commit a
significant amount of its resources to this particular script, this is a suggestion I make only sparingly
— I have probably wholeheartedly recommended only five or six screenplays in the past decade and
a half (the good news is, the majority of those eventually got made, which means my track record is
pretty good).

It’s a subjective process, to be sure, but hopefully one supported by education (both academic and real
world), experience, some smarts and some heart, and a sincere desire to do good work that will be useful for
writers, producers, and the screenplays themselves.