It’s not the ones with the greatest script either, nor those with the most writing experience.

The ones who get their movies made are those who can make people believe they have the best movie idea, the greatest script and the right experience.

This means that much like your resume, you’ll have to change your story depending on who you’re talking to.

The investor with spare cash wants to hear a different story from the arty-farty airy-fairy government film development agent.

It doesn’t stop with telling a great story in your screenplay.

Once you have told that story, you need to start telling/selling another one.

Aspiring screenwriter Terrence ponders over a question that has bugged all of us at some point: ”Is screenwriting for me?”

Post: Terrence
Editor: Cleo Mees

The bustling streets of lower Manhattan. Ubiquitous blue planks of wood, held up by rusty bars of steel. A pedestrian crowd waves in and out of the shade falling from the skyscrapers.

CU of LUANNE, emerging from the crowd.

PULL BACK to reveal her blue sunflower-print dress. With a big smile, she waves from across the street.

Luanne walks against the crowd and crosses the street to meet ME. We hug for a long time. She gives me a warm grab of the arms. I relax into her and hold on tight. But she breaks off contact and I slouch, rejected.

She walks off and disappears back into the crowd.

LONG SHOT of me, standing still as the crowd floods around me. I become indiscernible. CUT TO BLACK.

Fade in.

This is me waking up from a dream. For the longest time, I have dreamed in a cinematic format. From framing to camera angles to cuts and fades, even sound mixing, my dreams were the stuff of film.

I only started becoming cognizant of these little quirks when I stumbled across the special features on some DVD that I can no longer recall.  It talked about framing shots, creating movement, and a lot more.  I had no idea what a lot of these cinematic principals were at the time, but it certainly opened up my eyes to the true art of motion picture.  After watching those special features I understood that every frame of that movie was by design.  Every shot, every cut, every dolly in and every close up, they were put there for a reason.

When Netflix blessed me with a service center that was not 5 miles away from me, I became obsessed with movies.  I loved rating the movies that I watched.  After all, Netflix did provide viewing suggestions based on your ratings.  By the end of a couple of months, I had rated over 800 movies, and within a year I had watched and rated more than a thousand movies.  At first, they merely served as entertainment, sometimes a distraction from the hustle and bustle and pain of daily life.  But then I started to become more of a discerning consumer.  I started to take an active interest in films.  I started noticing how there would often be shots of actors only from the chest up.  Sometimes one actor’s face would fill nearly the entire frame.  And then sometimes their presence on the screen was a small one, a small dot in the center of an aerial shot.

IS SCREENWRITING FOR ME?

Not having a formal education in film as an art form, I was a self-proclaimed student of film by way of self-study.  My education consisted of my own observations and notes about the hundreds of movies I had watched…Until the day came when I had to register for classes at my college.  It wasn’t a liberal arts college, so I was rather excited to see that there was a new class being offered.  It was Drama 106: Introduction to Film Appreciation.  Boy was I ecstatic!

Throughout the semester, we watched and studied films like The Cabinet of Dr. Galligari, Citizen Kane, Nosferatu, and surprisingly even The Graduate.  As we progressed through the syllabus, I gained a new appreciation for film.  I came to learn the lingo used in film and why we see two-shots, close-ups, how high angles and low angles are used.  I learned about mise en scene, lighting, the use of sound.  I absorbed all of this new knowledge with a great enthusiasm and appreciation.

Shortly after the semester’s end, I began penning a screenplay.  I noticed that the format felt incredibly natural to me.  Scenes started with a time and a place, new characters were introduced, dialogue was written.  The flow of it came easily – everything just seemed to make sense in a movie.  In fact, I saw my life as fitting into little scenes.  Before entering a classroom, I thought to myself, INT. CLASSROOM – DAY.  People became characters to me, and I studied them as such. I remembered bits and pieces of people I saw, be they bums on the street corner or a pretty lady in the New York City subway.

The question this leads us to is, how do you know if screenwriting is for you?  It may not come as naturally to you as it did for me.  I feel that the only way to see if the format is a good fit for you is to go and try to write one.  Just write out a story that you’d like to tell and put it into a screenplay format.  Also, find something that interests you, something that you’re passionate about.  Authenticity comes from real experience and expertise.

-Terry Ip
Self-styled perennial student of film working towards a career with a pension.

This

Thanks to Mystery Man & crew, you now have access to the minds of George Lucas, Steven Spielberg and Lawrence Kasdan at the time they were putting together the core story elements of the first Indiana Jones movie.

Not only will you find a link to the transcription of the story meeting, Mystery Man adds his own incisive insights and boils them down to 10 terrific points.

You can watch movies, read books and attend workshops but it hardly ever gets any better than this.

Never has there been a better time to be a learning screenwriter.

Zen may be the key to your well-being; it is the enemy of cinema.

Get your audience into the ‘now’ and your movie is dead. Storytelling for the screen is not about what is NOW but about what comes NEXT.

It is mind-boggling how many people still don’t get this. A couple of weeks ago I overheard a conversation between a major decision maker on government film financing and an eager filmmaker.

She was explaining to him what a wonderful movie she had seen. She also explained how the movie had bombed at the box office.

Wonderful style, fabulous photography. But she maintained that it was a “really good movie”.

It was “such a shame the stupid audience didn’t get it”. She didn’t literally say the last thing, but it was in the subtext.

Many writer/directors – and people outside the commercial reality of the film business – struggle with this essential aspect of storytelling for the screen. They want the audience to admire what is on the screen NOW rather than worry about what is coming NEXT.

This is exactly what sets film apart from other media. And this is exactly where disasters happen when visual art lovers meddle with movies.

Screen emotions are about ANTICIPATION.

Antipation means: hope for a good/better outcome, fear over what might happen to the hero, curiosity over how things will turn out. Nothing of this has to do with the NOW.

Once an audience starts enjoying the beautiful picture, the great music, even an amazing performance (“the actor was really in the moment”), your audience has stopped worrying about what is happening next – and you’ve lost them.

Zen is about being happy and content with what you have, NOW.

Screen story is not.

It’s rather about being UNhappy. About wanting to know, see, experience what will come next. If your audience is content about what’s on the screen NOW, there is no reason to continue watching. On the contrary, they will happily leave the theater and go home.

Once you’re finished with THE POWER OF NOW, check out THE TOOLS OF SCREENWRITING and Screenwriting: The Sequence Approach
to save your screenwriting life.

National Screenwriters’ Conference 2009: Kenny – Plumbing the depths
by: David Tiley
Screen Hub
Thursday 26 February, 2009

Before opening a completely charming discussion with Andrew Knight about the writing of ‘Kenny’, Clayton Jacobson produced some very sobering numbers.

Kenny cost $500,000. By the time the film returned $5m, he was still $250,000 in debt. When it made $8m, his investors started to get a return. He has still not seen a dollar. As he said later, if he had cleaned toilets for all those hours he put into the film, he would have doubled his income.

However, he was determined to follow a film through the entire process, from idea to audience, and experience all the details in the middle. He is glad he did this, and learnt a lot, but he wants a fee for service in the future.

Andrew is an experienced comic writer and producer himself, and he brought a knowledgeable eye to the clips, the Jacobson touch, and the craft of comedy. Again and again he reiterated the same point – that the comedy works because it carries an exquisite sense of detail.

Indeed, Clayton acknowledged that the film is a mass of details driven by an underlying theme.

Here are the stages in the development of the project:

1. The Jacobson family assembles a gallery of fabulous characters with a fine sense of the vernacular. (His grandfather, for instance, ran a carnival, and the family lived for years in the big tent after it became unfinancial.) In a film mad family, the children are named after characters and actors. Raised on Jerry Lewis, Clayton sees Midnight Cowboy when he is fifteen and the skies open up.

2. Clayton goes to Swinburne, cleans toilets to pay for the course, graduates in 1984, ends up in high end commercials, develops many friends, writes extravagant features that have nothing to do with life.

3. Younger brother Shane runs a business doing lights for big shows. One day he imitates Ray, an old toilet plumber, and Clayton is fascinated. It sticks in his mind, and liberates in him the ability to write (O cliché! O wisdom!) what he knows about.

4. For months he collects lists of assets – dozens of connections, insights, lines, quirks and resources. Mates who can act, gear that is available, stuff that can go in the film, places that inspire him. Stories he is told. All to take him further than the limited world of his imagination.

5. Inspired by Paul Harris at the St Kilda Film Festival, they use a bunch of experimental rushes as a the basis of a 47 minute mockumentary.

6. They show this to the poo people, who supplied trucks, equipment and support, along with material from Shane. They are enchanted and want a feature film. They even want to put the money up. Clayton can’t see an extended version. Then they tell him about the toilet cleaning convention in the US, and it opens up for him.

At this point, Clayton made many decisions about the script. The first fifteen minutes is all about cramming scatology into the film, so the audience gets tired of it and happy to move on. We, the audience, see Kenny in his disregarded role, plodding on optimistically and decently doing a job we all need, and look down on. We are the antagonists in the film, it is our journey too.

He is driven by the desire “make the audience secretly love every character in the film” which means he gives space and emotional journeys to small sidebar stories and people. This is about an overwhelming ethic. He takes something crucial from Jerry Lewis – his ability to undercut humour with sudden tragedy, and then move on quickly.

He deals with the underlying melancholy of the characters and their crappy social tragedy by giving them an almost unshakeable sense of optimism. Bad things happen but they stay positive.

The film is built around a dual journey – we learn to respect and love Kenny, while he doubts himself. Moves into a crisis, goes to America, resolves the crisis – but it comes back. We want him to respect himself, but that is becoming less and less possible. The crisis is resolved because his father gives him some acknowledgement, and because he decides to reject the desk job which takes him away from his fundamental identity.

He plotted the film around the various events which the real company had, up to and including the trip to America. He invited ideas and talked incessantly about the projecte and its story, refining it as he saw how others responded, sometimes having them tell the story back to him. He recruited actors, mostly in his family – even his pestiferous brother in law who wanted to be in the movies, and developed a simple philosophy of performance: get people to exagerrate themselves, and use their own memories.

He plotted the emotional development in detail, and how the audience responded. He is an editor, and was keenly aware of set ups, and the way the audience can be placed on its feeling journey. This is very important – he managed the viewer’s knowledge of the characters very carefully.

He knew the script thoroughly, and would tell the actors what they were doing on the same day. He mined their knowledge of dialogue, and capacity to improvise. But he always knew the crucial lines and moments that had to be delivered exactly. Again and again, the right details.

Over six months, they shot the basic story, and over the next year they went back to the same events, for additional shots, to put in particular characters, to create atmosphere or simply reshoot.

Then Clayton went into the editing room until he just about went insane. With money, risk and family chaos layered on top.

He is now working on a web series called Mordy Koots: Blazing Angels, Clouds of Fear. Google as the project develops.

David Tiley
David Tiley is the editor of Screenhub, and can be contacted at editor@screenhub.com.au. or 03 9690 6893.

editor@screenhub.com.au
http://www.screenhub.com.au

http://www.screenhub.com.au/ | For Australian screen professionals

Republished with permission

Of the movies I have seen, I fail to find any truly great. I won’t go in detail as I suspect there will be an abundance of articles critical of the winner in each category.

Closest to timeless comes WALL-E and despite the fact that the film has ruined the chances of my own recent short animation (co-written with and directed by Rodney March) I am happy WALL-E won the statuette.

Our film TIN CAN HEART has more than a few aspects in common with the first 40mins of WALL-E. We completed our film a few weeks before the release of the latest Pixar pic but by the time the film festivals received it, they saw the similarities as a lack of originality.

Such is life.

And I see why it is not getting the word of mouth it deserves.

My take on the film is primarily from a broad story perspective. I don’t go into dialogue, performance, SFX etc. because I believe they are secondary and ultimately not decisive for the success of the film.

PUSHING IT: ACT STRUCTURE

In my view, Luhrman and Beattie have knowingly taken a few risks. The main one is the four-act structure. Here I mean: four acts according to the traditional three-act model. Not three acts with the second cut in two.

Both the drover and Sarah have a clear four-act journey. Their first objective is to get the cattle to Darwin, which spans most of the film. As a ‘road movie’, it works fabulously to my taste and it is in the second act that the film has its best moments, including some instant-classic scenes such as the cattle stampede threatening Nulla.

Ironically, the expectation of a traditional three-act structure is reinforced by the death of Flynn, perfectly halfway Act Two.

Then, when they reach Darwin and succeed in their objective, a new objective is set for the next act: the return to Faraway Downs. Here is where the structure begins to collapse. Where we had an instinctive feeling we were moving towards the end of the movie, we have exactly one more hour to go.

Act Three climaxes in the realisation that Nulla is in danger and drover decides to save him. The final act is the rescue of Nulla.

UNDERESTIMATED: POINT OF VIEW

The only other major potential problem is the multiple point of view (POV). Each POV has a serious problem.

The film is told through Nullah, Sarah and Drover.

Nullah’s story is that of the stolen generation: he is trying to stay out of the hands of those who want to take him away from his community.
This story is scattered across the movie and it doesn’t really have the power to span the entire film, to keep the three hours together. When we are in Nullah’s POV though, we all empathise with him because we understand this is a struggle for freedom, a basic human instinct. When sifting through the hundreds of promotional photo’s on australiamovie.net, the photo above is the only one I could find of Nullah. It says a lot about how important the filmmakers see this character and his story.

Sarah’s journey does a better job in tying the movie together, for at least three acts. In order to save her cattle station, she and the drover must undertake an epic cattle drive to Darwin. On the way, she falls in love with him. We empathise with Sarah, because we understand her journey, too. Because of the love journey, she is probably the most powerful POV in the movie. Everybody accepts her falling in love with the drover as he represents masculinity, freedom, her future.

Drover’s POV is more problematic. He wants to help Sarah, then falls in love with her. Here is the problem. Sarah Ashley is portrayed as a completely undesirable female. She is uptight, annyoing and sometimes plain naive. Who would desire such a woman, when you can get much better? I don’t believe many audience members would therefore identify with the Drover.

Looking at the three options, Sarah is the most likely character to identify with. After all, Hugh is a desirable male! I would like to see a breakdown of the demographics in terms of audience reception for Australia. It wouldn’t come as a big surprise if it turns out to be a chic flic.

MINOR ISSUES

Like most other good but not great movies, if you drill down you’ll find a lot of issues that keep you from fully participating.

Towards the end of the movie, I was getting totally annoyed by the mind-numbing repetition of the WIZARD OF OZ theme “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”. The original score of Australia is strong enough, there was no need to revert to this blatant recycling. A film’s identity gets lost when it has to rely on references to other movies to get a point across.

Finally, I found the visual style gorgeous until the arrival in Darwin, where things got completely out of control. Effects became totally in-your-face, unnecessary and plain badly executed. Luhrman had almost created a timeless classic piece of cinema, but in the last two acts he blows it.

That said, I enjoyed AUSTRALIA. The word of warning about its length did help me, as I gave it the time and space it needed.

And about the fascinating heated discussions after posting an article from the SMH and one from The Guardian on my Facebook page and Jason Gordon’s article on the Story Department Group at the end of last year, I would like to say the following: I am a Belgian and I look at Australia’s history with a certain level of neutrality. I find it hypocritical of a nation to say sorry but continue to celebrate Australia Day on 26 January. But I don’t have a desire to see social, political and historical issues resolved in the cinema.

In my view, despite its failure to appeal to the mass audience, AUSTRALIA is still one of the most entertaining Australian films of the decade.

A well-structured story has THREE acts. Or FOUR? No big deal.

Earlier I said that the model you use to improve your screenwriting is your own choice. At the end of the day it is all academic. Whatever works for you.

A few things to consider before you choose:

First of all, whichever you choose, you will need to deliver the exact same turning points. In broad terms, these are the Inciting Incident, Turning Point One, Mid Point, Turning Point Two and Climax + Resolution.

In other words, the outcome of your story shouldn’t depend on the model you choose, but on your premise. The same premise should result in the same structure, irrespective of whether you think in three or four acts.

Otherwise the theory interferes with the result and this can’t be the idea.

Now, what IS the difference?

The four-act model equates to three acts with the middle act cut in two.

In many great stories, the objective as stated in Turning Point One changes at the mid point. In other words:

The mid point is not just a PLOT POINT, but a TURNING POINT.

Therefore you may argue we are moving into a new act.

A crystal-clear example is JAWS:

Act One: Amity has a shark problem.
Act Two: Brody tries to solve the problem by closing the beaches.

Mid Point: Brody realises his failure and decides to change tactics.

Act Three: Brody tries to solve the problem by hunting the shark.
Act Four: Brody kills the shark.

This results in four acts of roughly equal duration, which is kind of elegant.
The acts are also shorter and therefore more manageable, which helps.

I still prefer the three-act structure. Here’s why:

Great films have a strong cohesion in the main character’s journeys between Turning Point 1 and Turning Point 2. Cutting Act Two in the middle could cause a writer to ignore this cohesion.

In the example of JAWS, Brody has one over-arching desire: “to protect the people of Amity”. The Inner Journey, too, has a strong cohesion across Act Two: “to learn to act responsibly” (see the structural analysis of JAWS).

Although most great movies have this inner logic, it is often buried deep inside the essence of the character’s journey and not always clear through a simple analysis.

THE UNTOUCHABLES, however, is another great example. In structure and meaning it is not too dissimilar from JAWS:

Act One: Ness learns of the vicious methods of Capone.
Act Two: Ness tries to capture Capone.
Act Three: Ness tries to capture the bookkeeper.
Act Four: Ness captures the bookkeeper.

The over-arching desire, uniting Act Two and Three: “to protect the people of Chicago”. The Inner Journey: “to accept the Chicago way”.

Finally, another good reason to stick with the three-act structure is the fact that not all successful movies have such a strong reversal at the mid point.

Please let me know your views in the comments.

“Ron Cobb: Concept to Creation”

But as you’re asking about dialogue, here are some principles that I have observed in great screenplays. And yes: more often than not when writers draw the attention to their dialogue, the story doesn’t work.

These twenty tips are not exhaustive, there are probably another ten major principles and fifty equally valid minor rules of thumb. And each has probably been breached beautifully at some point in great movies.

Feel free to add more or argue any or all of these in the comments.

1. it should never – even remotely – smell like exposition.
2. it should support the subtext, the characters’ secret objective(s).
3. its grammar should be organic and deficient, not perfect.
4. its semantics should be meticulously shaped.
5. it should be composed to support the scene’s intended rhythm.
6. it should not sound theatrical unless the character or genre warrants this.
7. lines should get shorter, punchier towards the end of the scene.
8. different characters should have different ‘idiolects’.
9. long dialogue should be broken up by characters’ responses, action etc.
10. avoid talking heads: give characters ’something to do’ while speaking.
11. strong lines mostly deliver their ‘beat’ at the very end.
12. dialogue shouldn’t open nor end scenes (the latter not a hard rule).
13. characters shouldn’t tell each other what we have already seen.
14. no parentheses unless the line doesn’t work at all without.
15. when a character asks a question, don’t answer it directly.
16. numbers should be spelled out in full.
17. characters should not say exactly what they feel (except in PP2).
18. only use in-jokes, innuendo etc. if the audience understands.
19. avoid tongue-twisters, clever dialogue or lines that stand out.
20. avoid dialogue that only great actors can deliver credibly.

The last two clearly show this is all about spec screenplays by writers who still need to prove themselves. Once you’re up there, you set your own rules. And even then, there are exceptions. Look at the dialogue in Juno. It draws so much attention to itself that some thought those first couple of minutes were borderline indigestible.

Diablo Cody got away with it.

Each principle above is a challenge in itself. That is why often at the very end of your development, when you are tantalisingly close to the final draft, a ‘dialogue pass’ helps making sure every line and every word hits the mark.

Beginning screenwriters can’t always judge whether their own dialogue really works. That’s why it is essential to have a professional do a final polish of your work before you send it out, even if the story works.

Then again, you can avoid all the hard work as tip #20 holds the easy solution to all your dialogue problems.

Just spend an extra ten million on your cast.