by Steven Fernandez

Some writers may try to defend the use of unheroic protagonists under the excuse of trying to be “gritty”, or “realistic”, or “un-American”.  Others may resort to the excuse of being intellectually “sophisticated” and/or post-modernist.  I say that excuses are all these rationales ever are.  And feeble ones at that!

In the first two essays of this series, I have decisively refuted all these standard excuses.  Go back and re-read those essays if you today think any of the standard excuses have merit.  In addition, I will repeat what I said in essay two:  Compelling stories come from making a stand.

Now, your story won’t make a clear stand if your protagonist is wishy-washy or substanceless.  Why?  Because viewers will experience your film through the lens of your protagonist.  If your protagonist is flimsy or lacking in any praiseworthy qualities, then the viewer will be drawn to the conclusion that your film makes no real stand.  And they will conclude this even if you, as the writer, did in fact have a concrete stand in mind.If your protagonist is flimsy or lacking in any praiseworthy qualities, then the viewer will be drawn to the conclusion that your film makes no real stand.

 Viewers will experience your film through the lens of your protagonist.

A second important point about flimsy and unpraiseworthy central characters is that they are not likeable!  Which means that few people will truly enjoy your film when it screens.  And so word of mouth (which is always the best form of advertising) will go against your film.  Which won’t make your producer interested in your next film!

So the first requirement of any protagonist is that they have some praiseworthy qualities.  In short, that they are at least part-way heroic!  For anyone out there who is right now writing or rewriting a funded screenplay, I command you:  Stop perpetuating the local convention of having a loser or a dubious person as a protagonist!  You are not being either clever or “artistic” by doing that.  You, instead, are just fooling yourself.

The need to make your protagonist heroic should not be interpreted to mean that this character must be some saintly figure.  Nor does it mean that he or she must be some super-skilled person who can take on a CIA mission that has hopeless odds of success.  All it means is that the character possesses some virtues after all.  Even if those virtues are not immediately obvious to the casual viewer.  Let me give you three examples to make this point concrete:-

1) A drug-taking street girl might have a strong sense of social justice.  Perhaps she even participates in peace and environment rallies.  And she has this sense of justice despite (or, perhaps, because of) the grim and dire conditions she lives in.

2) A dismissed and shunned nerd-boy might have the inner qualities of courage, integrity, and chivalry.  And this fact might only be hinted at until, say, he rescues a cat being chased by grunt schoolboys.

3) A sexually confused young artist might sleep around and be minimally employed.  Yet, at the same time, he may have a selective code of honour where he, for instance, never deserts a friend in need.  Alternatively (or, even, additionally), he may possess a superb work ethic when it comes to his own art.  Such that he is prepared to do whatever it takes to deliver the very best of his painting talent to a client.

None of these characters are all-perfect.  Yet each have a heroic streak in them.  And this is exactly the way it should be with the protagonists that you, yourself, create in your own screenplays.

By the way:  None of the three characters, above, are either boring, superficial, or stereotypical.  Which smashes a preconception I have sensed from some local writers.  Namely, that virtuous characters are necessarily boring ones.

Apart from inner virtues, a protagonist should also have a goal that is engaging.  In fact, preferably a goal that is noble as well.  This is another aspect of the protagonist that Australian films typically fall flat about.

Apart from inner virtues, a protagonist should also have a goal that is engaging.

Too often in local films the protagonist has either no clearly discernable major goal, or a major goal that is lame.  For example, a male protagonist who just wants to camp out with his drinking buddies does not have a major goal worth speaking about.  Unless, I suppose, this goal is just his initial goal … A goal that will lure him into an impending upheaval that will happen at the campsite.

For the major goal to be engaging, it must be one that the protagonist must step right out of his comfort zone to attempt.  It also must be a goal that will be not at all easy for him to accomplish.  For example, a young man who is afraid of heights might briefly meet an attractive girl at some party.  After asking all his friends, he might discover that she is a skydiving instructor.  Suddenly the man has a taxing goal:  Will he succeed in pretending to be a skydiving student so that he can begin a relationship with her?

It is also advisable that the protagonist’s major goal is noble (or at least praiseworthy).  While I won’t go as far as to say that this is an unbreakable rule, I will point out that few protagonists elicit viewer sympathy more deeply than ones with noble intentions.  Even if those protagonists are seriously flawed, hopelessly misguided, or comically incompetent.

No matter how ‘corny’ you may think it is for a protagonist to have a noble goal, it is inescapable that viewers sympathise the most with such characters.  In contrast, the typical Australian film protagonist is an invertebrate bore.

To sum up, Australian feature film stories need to start presenting central characters that have some praiseworthy (if not noble) qualities in them.  Even if those qualities are not immediately obvious to the viewer.  On top of that, the protagonist needs to have an engaging major goal that will tax him or her.  And, again, it is preferable that this major goal is noble, or at least praiseworthy.

Photo Credit: Antoine Hubert – Johan J.Ingles-Le Nobel – Adam Bailey

-Steven Fernandez

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia.

He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

]]> https://www.thestorydepartment.com/why-protagonists-must-have-some-virtues/feed/ 2 21800 https://www.thestorydepartment.com/how-indigenous-films-could-be-more-universal/ https://www.thestorydepartment.com/how-indigenous-films-could-be-more-universal/#comments Mon, 27 Aug 2012 22:34:26 +0000 https://thestorydepartment.com/?p=21795 Read more]]> In my last essay I explained how Australian feature stories lack universality.
Today I will focus on the one sub-category where I see this lack at its most blatant:  In the case of films that depict indigenous characters and culture.

by Steven Fernandez

For the purposes of this essay, I will define an “indigenous film” as one that has indigenous characters who are central to the film’s story.  Under this definition I will not concern myself with the race of either the writer or director.  Even if they happen to be white.

In my view, indigenous films have consistently been the worst written of all Australian films.  And the principal reason why they are so bad is because minimal or no attempt is made to make aspects of indigenous culture meaningful and relatable to the worldwide audience.  Only Rabbit Proof Fence (2002) comes to my mind as a credible exception to this rule.

indigenous films have consistently been
the worst written of all Australian films.

For those of you who want to brand me as ethnocentric, I say two things:  Firstly, in what way is an untranslated and unrelated presentation of tribal dances, rituals, and beliefs, any more respectful of that culture than a piece of 1930’s newsreel footage?  And, secondly, do you seriously expect an overseas viewer to pay money and watch an indigenous film if little attempt is made to make the native culture meaningful to him or her?

Allow me to explain what I mean by way of an example …

Suppose we have some indigenous film where the central character is a troubled young urban black man.  Suppose, in addition, that his uncle takes him to the outback to help him ‘rediscover his roots’.  Once the young man arrives at the tribal camp, it won’t be long before we, the film watchers, will be presented with some tribal ritual, dance, or whatever.

We will be presented with an involved sequence of shots showing, for instance, some body-painted elder posturing and prancing about with a spear in his hand.  We may later be told that this is the traditional dance of, say, “The Leaping Wooka-Wooka”.

Now, there may well be an urban sophisticate set who would be quite content to watch and applaud footage of some colourful native rite.  They may well be politically correct enough to pass over the fact that the significance of this dance has not really been explained to a viewer who is outside of that culture.  But their well-meaning charity will not negate the fact that woeful storytelling has happened here.

Why woeful?

Because the significance of this dance has not been meaningfully related to a non-indigenous viewer!  This is the Dance Of The Leaping Wooka-Wooka, is it?  Well, so what?!  Why should we care if it is?  What difference does it make to the central character?  How is a viewer from London, Paris, Tokyo, Hong Kong, or New York supposed to value this tribal dance if all they got to go on is some footage and a word-label?

This is a typical failure of universality that indigenous films make.  Their writers (whether black, or not) assume that the audience’s multi-cultural tolerance will excuse them from having to exert the effort to make the film universal.  They could not be further wrong!

How is a viewer from London, Paris, Tokyo, Hong Kong, or New York supposed to value this tribal dance if all they got to go on is some footage and a word-label?

Before leaving this example, let me briefly go over how the Wooka-Wooka dance could be presented far more effectively and universally …

Suppose the uncle mentions the dance to the young man as he drives him to the outback.  Suppose the young man scoffs that this dance – “whatever it is” – is primitive and irrelevant.  Now let’s make the uncle wily at this point.  Suppose he exploits his nephew’s pride and overconfidence by betting him that he could not master this dance inside of two weeks.  The young man enthusiastically takes the bait.  Later they are at the tribal camp and the full complexity of the dance is portrayed.  Suddenly the nephew looks like he has just swallowed a bar of soap!  For he is now committed to mastering something that is far more complicated than he (or we, the viewers) ever supposed.

Fellow writers:  This is the way to do the Wooka-Wooka effectively and universally!  For now the dance means something to the viewer.  If only because the nephew’s pride and status is now on the line over it.

The one film that all makers of indigenous films should study is Slumdog Millionaire.  Why?  Because Simon Beaufoy (the principal writer of Slumdog) paid full attention to the importance of making his story universal.

Simon Beaufoy did not make the mistake of limiting himself to being just a custodian of Hindi language and culture.  He did more than simply present authentic Hindi dialogue and customs.  He, over and above that, crafted a story that everyone in the world could relate to.  And, importantly, he did not at all count on his viewers already knowing much about Indian culture.

These operating principles are precisely what makers of indigenous films need to learn and live by!  They should – at once – stop ignoring the critical need to make elements of indigenous culture globally meaningful.  Fail to do that, and you will – quite frankly – fail to make a film that is worth seeing.

As my remedy of the Wooka-Wooka example, above, shows, it’s not good enough to simply present authentic bits of native culture and just leave it at that.  Those bits of culture need to be made meaningful to the viewer.  And, ideally, these bits of culture should make a clearly understandable difference to the film’s protagonist.  It’s not good enough that they be left as background colour.

 It’s not good enough to simply present authentic bits of native culture

In summary, then, the key thing makers of indigenous films need to understand is that native culture must be translated in a way that anyone anywhere in the world can relate to and make sense of.

The viewer should never be expected to have prior cultural knowledge – or politically correct sympathies – before they can enjoy the film.  Better still, elements of the native culture should make a real difference to the film’s protagonist.  Even if the protagonist spends the whole of the first third of the film doing nothing but scoffing and dismissing all those elements.

Photo Credit: Steve Evans – India Kangaroo

-Steven Fernandez

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia.

He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

by Steven Fernandez

A second story concept about racism could be set in a contemporary urban setting.

Suppose we have a migrant family.  A family where both parents work unglamorous jobs and the three children are expected to be responsible and self-sufficient enough to mind the household after they come home from school.  The eldest child, in this case, plays the role of deputy parent. 

He or she may not necessarily be comfortable with that role, but practical considerations force him or her to assume it.  Of the younger children, one could be studious while the other could be artistic or disabled (or both!).

Suddenly we have three characters (the children) who are ripe with possibilities.  In each case they can experience the ugliness of racism in somewhat different ways.  For example, the eldest child could be torn between his or her duties as housekeeper, versus the deepening desire to date someone who happens to be of the “wrong” race.

While the studious one could be constantly teased as being a “nerd” and/or as being “un-Australian” for not playing football or cricket.  And, of course, the artistic one could be branded as a freak in the schoolyard.

Everyone on this planet can relate to each of these characters and their individual plights.  So this story passes the universality test.  Furthermore, every one of these characters display indications of deeper layers within themselves.

Everyone on this planet can relate to
each of these characters and their individual plights.

So there’s already the potential for viewers to grow to care about all three of them as their deeper layers unfold.  In short, we have a completely viable second story about racism.

Now what is true for racism is true for other universal themes as well.

So the lateral thinking and creative process I have shown for racism can equally apply to writing interesting stories that are based on other themes.  Themes such as sexism, ecology, capitalism, the alienation of the individual in an overly commercialised or homogenised society, and so on.

The key thing is to think outside the square of pre-established conventions.  And, especially, not to be lazy and unimaginative with respect to your characters.

The key thing is to think outside the square of pre-established conventions.

In summary, then, Australian film stories need to be universal instead of parochial.  Whatever “G’day mate” dialogue they may have should be pertinent to conveying a story that the world can relate to. 

And there are no excuses left for not being able to write an Australian story on a universal theme in an interesting and different way. 

Making our films universal will substantially improve their quality.  Both artistically and commercially.

Photo Credit: DaedaLusT – The U.S. Army – Dave Gray

-Steven Fernandez

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia. He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

by Steven Fernandez

Some (if not most) local screenwriters see themselves as champions of local culture when they write loads of “G’day mate” dialogue in their scripts. They think that they are being stalwart defenders of charming “dinkum Aussie” characters when they write the same-old, same-old, rustic larrikins who are shallow and hardly evolve.

The problem with these over-done elements is that they are superficial and largely meaningless to the international audience.  And, like it or not, this audience matters a lot.  Why?  Because without overseas success an Australian film has almost no chance of making a profit.

Without overseas success an Australian film has
almost no chance of making a profit.

But what can we do to turn this around?

In short, we should stop perpetuating empty local stereotypes and start telling stories on the basis of universal themes.  Themes that everyone – including the overseas market – can relate to.  Two larrikins speaking ‘Aussie’ and drinking beer by a billabong do not cut it by this measure.  Unless, that is, there is a deeper context to this scene that is in fact universal.

For example, perhaps one of the men fears losing his wife to a more refined rival.  Or, alternatively, he has a son or daughter who adamantly does not want to carry on the family farm after he dies.  To make this second example less hackneyed, you can have the father himself conflicted about how much future his farm really has.

We should stop perpetuating empty local stereotypes and
start telling stories on the basis of universal themes

If you really must load your script with “G’day mate” dialogue, then at least have your characters deal with challenges that the world can immediately relate to.  Do not write or make a film that has little relevance to an overseas viewer.  No matter how important you think it is to put local idiosyncracies on a pedestal.

Let’s take the specific example of racism.  Suppose we want to craft an Australian story around this universal theme.  And to do so without resorting to over-done elements or shallow characters.  How could we go about doing that?

Well, I can immediately think of two different ways.

One story concept could be a nineteenth century version of Avatar.

The basic idea would be for some English infantryman to get lost in some east coast bush and then find himself rescued by the very “savages” that he has been ordered to hunt down.  You can have the familiar clash of cultures tension here, as well as the slow and grudging respect that grows within the soldier as he learns of the more elegant aspects of their culture.

To make this story less trite, you can show the indigenous culture having brutish and distinctly un-noble aspects.  For example, in the way that their women are treated.  In fact, on that basis, it is arguably more convincing that the pale-skinned stranger would actually succeed in winning the heart of the spunky huntress.
Simply because he treats her with comparative respect.

Do not write or make a film that has little relevance to an overseas viewer.

This story could be made less predictable (as well as historically more accurate) by having the local tribe lose on the whole.  Mind you, you need to be very careful when doing that.  In particular, you must still have the film end with hope rising.  So the colonial military must not win easily.  At a minimum, the tribesmen need to go down fighting heroically.  And, in addition, both the hero and the huntress must manage to escape into deeper woods.  (So that hope still rises.)

Additional tweaks could be made to this story to separate it from all the “white man goes native” films we have seen before.

Photo Credit: DaedaLusT – The U.S. Army – Dave Gray

-Steven Fernandez

What is your view on the stories told in Australian films?
Do you have an opinion? We’d love hear it in the comments!

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia. He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

In my last essay I explained how Australian feature film stories could be made more original.

by Steven Fernandez

Lack of substance in our stories is something I have protested about for years.  But how can we break this dog trend?

Snap out of it – Write with conviction!

I would start by demanding that all you screenwriters out there snap out of the grovelsome mentality of being afraid to assert any strong point of view.  Trust me:  If you write a story that has no strong message driving it then your screenplay will be boring, mediocre, and pointless drivel.  A propaganda film from North Korea will provide more compelling viewing than yet another Australian pseudo-story about spineless nobodies who blunder through and barely transform to anything better.  Why?  Because the Korean film will at least have conviction behind it!

A propaganda film from North Korea will
provide more compelling viewing

For those who want to argue that our apologetic and self-effacing nature is what makes us Australians charmingly distinct in the world, I say:  Save your cultural conformity for bars and barbeques.  For those who want to rationalise that our lack of artistic self-confidence has to be excused because of our ‘convict past’, I say two things:  Firstly, that the vast majority of our current-day population are descendents of twentieth century immigration.  Not of the convicts.  And, secondly, I question what kind of so-called writer are you that you do not have the imagination to think outside of the limitations of the mob.

what kind of so-called writer are you
that you do not have the imagination

For those who may defend convictionless storytelling under the excuse of being intellectually ‘sophisticated’ (for example, as a follower of the fad of post-modernism), I say:  Save your relativism for university classes and inner city cafes.  It’s useless for writing compelling screenplays.

No more excuses:  You must write with conviction.  Period.

Make a stand

The American Christian film, Fireproof (2008), for example, is far better written than any Australian film I have seen.  Don’t scoff!  The script’s quality stands well above Australian norms despite the fact that it smears Christian dogma all over your face.  It does not apologise for being what it is.  And, more importantly than that, it presents three-dimensional characters that struggle through human challenges.  Characters that are not clear-cutly good or bad in themselves, yet who all must confront the fact that they are each partially responsible for the ruts they find themselves in.  The story also includes unexpected plot twists.  And, unlike in Australian films, these twists are neither arbitrary nor boring.

Fireproof shows that even unfashionable or ‘corny’ convictions can deliver the presentation of substantive drama.  In other words, it is far better to advance quaint convictions than no convictions at all.  Compelling storytelling comes from making a stand.

unfashionable or ‘corny’ convictions can deliver
the presentation of substantive drama.

This does not mean that you can not write a complex story that portrays morally grey characters.  But what it does mean is that the story’s ending must make an unequivocal statement.  You can not hedge.

For example, you can certainly write a realistic story about the war in Afghanistan.  A story that shows, for example, that neither the Western invaders, nor the local bandit-rebels, are a hundred percent pure and blameless.  You can include morally grey characters such as a brutish, but honourable, sergeant.  As well as a tribal freedom fighter who is both caring towards his children, yet utterly ruthless towards Westerners.  You can portray corrupt politicians on both sides.  But what you must not do is go all relativist at the end.  You can’t close the story with the sense that everyone’s actions are all equally valid and that justice and human decency don’t count.  Again:  Compelling stories are ones that make a stand.

Ditch the drive through the desert

Over and above making a stand, our stories could start having substance by breaking away from story motifs we have already seen time and time again.

For example:  Take the motif of old father and disaffected adult son having to come back together despite their decades of differences.  After you throw in the yawnsomely conventional long drive through the desert, you have the basis of several local films that have been made before.  We all know how this one is going to end … The two emotionally-stilted men are going to reconcile after some cathartic confessions or conflict … Oh how predictable, boring, and over-done.  Time to break from the mould!

But suppose we really want to preserve the basic scenario of old father and disaffected son.  (It is a common father-son experience, after all.)  How, then, can we keep this initial set-up without the film falling into a stale repetition of others before it?

Actually, there are several simple ‘breaks’ you can do here.

For one thing, you can ditch the drive through the desert completely.  If you really must have the two characters thrusted alone in a wilderness, you can easily arrange that to happen in a bushy national park.  Or, more dramatically, on a snow-covered mountain.

Crocodile Dunthat

Another break you could consider is to make at least one of these male characters a lot more emotionally integrated than the Crocodile Dundee stereotype.  For instance, perhaps the father has already accepted – within himself – that he was partially at fault in the past.  And it is in fact the forty-year-old son who is too proud, rigid, and stubborn to see what has changed.  (In other words, a complete inversion of the “old codger” stereotype.)

make at least one of these male characters
a lot more emotionally integrated

More radically, you can break with the usual father-son motif by having the two men not actually reconciling at the end! … Mind you, this ending will only be satisfying if one of these men turns out to be irredeemable.  Otherwise their continued schism will jar with your viewers.  For example, perhaps beneath the veneer of middle class respectability the son is unmitigatingly materialistic.  And so we can side with the father (who should be the protagonist in this case) when he refuses to make any more excuses for his son.  In this way viewers will accept the father’s radical decision to break away.  For they will see him as making a stand for integrity and humanity.

In summary, then, Australian feature stories could start to have substance by being prepared to make a firm statement without flinching.  Even if that statement happens to be unfashionable.  Also important is having the imagination to make even small breaks from over-done story motifs.

-Steven Fernandez

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia. He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

Acknowledgement: I wish to thank Ben Sitzer for fact-checking.

photo credit: Wolfgang Staudt
photo credit: MonsieurLui
photo credit: Jonas B

by Steven Fernandez
It’s about time we admit that local screenwriters need to lift their game. But how?

Today I will focus on one solution: Making our stories more original.

Your typical Australian feature story runs like this: A monosyllabic underachiever, with no real intention of bettering himself, stumbles through various mediocre challenges, meets, then loses, a girl (who is not much deeper than he is), muddles some more, then finally ends up either little improved, or not improved at all.

Throw in lavish amounts of “G’day mate” dialogue, and shoot some wide shots of pretty desertscapes, and you have a “film” that apparently rates government funding. Although it will be one that will never be compelling, and won’t make a profit.

It will be one that will never be compelling,
and won’t make a profit.

To make stories more original can be as simple as … Now, wait for it … Breaking just one of these conventions!

Simple example: If you really must have a monosyllabic sheep-shearer as your primary character, then at least give him one trait that breaks from the oh-so-boring bushman mould we have seen for decades. Such as? Well, maybe he paints on a canvas on occasion … In between shearing sheep and sinking schooners of beer.

give him one trait that breaks
from the oh-so-boring bushman mould

But why would such a ‘manly’ man do something so girlie? Good Question! And it is precisely in answering this question that you can begin to make your story rise above the typical level.

Pushing aside the unimaginative answer (i.e. he’s actually gay), his motive could be along the lines of painting being his personal way of connecting with a kid girl who has died years ago. A girl that could be either his sister when he was a boy, or a daughter who died more recently.

The sister or daughter, we may suppose, used to paint silly things with child-like abandon when she was alive. So he paints to try to reconnect with her joyful and effervescent nature. This solution will work particularly well if his present-day manner is laconic, stern, humourless, and so on. (It also provides a nice basis for the character’s transformational arc: Namely, his need to reconnect with his more playful side in order to start enjoying life again.)

What a difference just one break with convention makes! Suddenly we have teleported this sheep-shearer character away from hackneyed stereotype!

What a difference just one break with convention makes!

Suddenly this otherwise trite man demonstrates some level of emotional depth. And, in doing that much, we have a character that will surprise the viewers. Especially if we present the character as straight stereotype first, followed by a quick painting scene (with no explanation), followed by a slow unfolding of his reason for painting.

But even more important than his surprise factor will be the fact that, by demonstrating some emotional depth, he will be a man that the viewer can slowly grow to care about. He may well remain racist, sexist, and politically incorrect till the very end. But the fact that he still feels for his lost sister or daughter will be the all-important empathy link that will hook your viewers and entrance them to want to see him rise above his inner wounds.

By demonstrating some emotional depth,
he will be a man that the viewer
can slowly grow to care about.

While we all have seen the standard transformation of a hard-shelled man into ‘softie’, there’s something different about this painting shearer concept … Perhaps because he never was a hundred percent ‘hard’ to begin with.

Another Australian story convention we could do well to ditch is our lack of conviction in positive endings. Typically the central character either doesn’t improve, or only improves a little bit. A lost soul teenager, for example, might stop taking hard drugs at the end, but he will rarely evolve beyond a meagre or uncertain existence.

Typically the central character either doesn’t improve,
or only improves a little bit.

For those who may protest that we Australians do this because we are more gritty and realistic than Americans are, I have one thing to say: A positive ending does not mean a Disney ending!

The key thing about endings is that they must offer hope. But that is not the same thing as saying that everyone must live happily ever after. The central hero may well die, for example, as long as his death paves the way for the betterment of others (e.g. I Am Legend).

Similarly, the central character may elect to stop pursuing the one heartfelt goal that has been driving him all along in the film … And this sacrifice may hurt him deeply … So long as this choice improves the life of one he loves (e.g. The Butterfly Effect).

The key thing about endings
is that they must offer hope.

A positive ending, therefore, does not deny the possibility of heavy and serious drama. It does not even deny the possibility of a tragic ending, in fact.

For example, a terminally ill young woman may well die coughing up blood. But we can still be deeply moved by her irrepressible spirit and her valiant efforts to try to beat her condition. She may not “win” in the end, but we will not fail to admire her bravery when we walk out of the cinema.

How many Australian films truly manage that much?

In summary, Australian screenwriters can begin to lift their game by breaking at least one of several yawnsomely overdone cinema conventions.

Such convention-breaking will suddenly make Australian films much more original. And therefore more interesting.

And, in fact, more commercially viable as well.

-Steven Fernandez

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia. He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

photo credits: Doeki, pixeljones, perpetualplum, Thiru Murugan

Or, more likely, on the strength of a recommendation made by one of your contacts.

Good on you!

You’re now hired to do subsequent drafts of someone else’s screenplay.  Great stuff!

On the road to being a paid professional, you’re leaving Wannabe City

Well done!

‘So … How do you make sure your first professional relationship works well?  I mean, if it doesn’t then you could end up returning to Wannabe Main Street.  No thanks!

Once a producer or production company has hired you, they have validated your storytelling talent.  At least to some extent.  This does not mean, however, that the producer or company has no remaining questions or concerns about you.  From their point of view, your storytelling talent is only half the issue.  The other half – the other big risk factor for them – is how easy are you to work with.

Getting the reputation for being ‘difficult’ or ‘temperamental’
is not the way to make it in LA.

Especially in the face of criticisms and alternate story suggestions.  What can give a producer sleepless nights is the discovery that someone is a great storyteller, yet a rotten collaborator.  Getting the reputation for being ‘difficult’ or ‘temperamental’ is not the way to make it in LA.

So should I ‘bend over’ on their every story suggestion, then?

Actually … No! Someone who is that easy or rubbery will be a bigger worry than a writer who demonstrates some resistance and passion.  A canny producer or exec will start having doubts that Mr Rubbery really has the conviction and staying power to stick around and perform all the rewrites that are going to be inevitable during the long development process.

As with other forms of life mastery, balance is the key.  Your response to script notes (i.e. comments or concerns inserted by a producer or exec) must be a balance between being open to consider alternative possibilities and being prepared to articulate why some of the possibilities simply won’t work in this story.

Keep your cool and keep your screenwriting job

The key to expressing your objections is to be matter-of-fact, even-tempered and able to give clear reasons for your point of view.  For example, instead of simply declaring – “That’s a prostitution of the whole story concept!” Better:  “Jan, I can see how that ending is trendy, but the problem with it is that it goes against this story’s theme.  A better way to do something like that would be to …” Being able to propose an alternative, no matter how unformed, will go down a lot better to your listener than simply shooting down her suggestion point blank.

The point about being able to clearly articulate your reasons applies to more than just your responses to script notes.  It also applies to how you write your drafts.  I remember a private consultation with Christopher Vogler during which he told me that when he asks clients why they put a certain character or scene in a certain place, the usual reply is “I dunno … I just thought it was a good idea …” I had worked hard on giving clear reasons for all characters, scenes, and any breaches with conventional structure. For this, I was happy to receive Chris’ nod of approval.

But excessive logic hampers their creative process!

When you’re at the stage of just doing the early redrafts of the screenplay, by all means be as ‘illogical’ as you need to be to craft a compelling story.  But once you have got a draft that is almost final, then you need to be clear-headed about the ‘whys’ of your characters and plot.  If you are not, you will make yourself a pain to work with from the point of view of a producer or executive.  You are supposed to be a storytelling professional.  So act professionally in the face of ‘why’ type questions!

be clear-headed about
the ‘whys’ of your characters and plot.

When it comes to feature films, the process of development (i.e. the period of script rewrites and film financing negotiations) is long and drawn out.  It can easily take several years before the final script is locked down.  Only an impatient producer on a low budget project would try to cut the development time to, say, one or two years.

As a hired writer, expect to receive multiple rounds of script notes

Usually each round will involve substantial chopping and changing of the original screenplay.  Don’t be surprised if you are asked to change the ending more than once.  Also be prepared to change the traits of the major characters, e.g. different gender or age, different quirks, or different verbal style.

If you are hired by a producer or production company that is at least mid tier, you will experience the additional fun of receiving not only multiple rounds of script notes, but different sets of notes within each round.  By that I mean that each and every round will involve receiving separate notes from a number of different execs at roughly the same time.  So as many as five execs or more may independently comment on your screenplay draft and leave it to you to iron out any contradictions or anomalies that occur in trying to accommodate everybody.  Welcome to professional screenwriting!

As many as five execs or more may
independently comment on your screenplay

In summary, then, the way to stay hired – and to make yourself re-hireable – is to be collaborative and professional, rather than pigheaded and difficult.  You need to be creative and analytical, yet tenacious as well.

The development process is a marathon slog.  So stamina and long term focus are essential.  Your first contract will be the hardest…  but that’s how all pros began.

Acknowledgement:  Thanks to LA producer Ben Sitzer for fact-checking this essay.

-Steven Fernandez

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia. He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

Acknowledgement: I wish to thank Ben Sitzer for fact-checking.

photo credits: foundphotoslj & gagilas

It’s time to ditch the day job back in Australia, Delhi or Estonia, right?

Now hold on there a minute … Not so fast.  How much are you actually going to get on your first sale?

Great question! And not an easy one to get direct information on, either.

Nonetheless, for most of us the answer will be: Not enough to tell your office boss where he can jump. Generalisations about how much you will net on your first sale are quite difficult to make. Especially in the individualistic wheeling and dealing world that is Hollywood negotiation.  However, I will attempt to provide realistic parameters for you.

Firstly, much depends on what standing you already have in the entertainment industry. For example, are you a published novelist? An accomplished playwright? An actor that has played support roles across several films? Or someone with a ‘producer’ credit in a profitable feature? If so, you have more credibility to bargain with than an unknown from nowhere.

But what if you are just a regular unsold screenwriter who is ‘discovered’ by a mid tier production company at a pitchfest?

How much can you expect to win?

When faced with a ‘baby’ writer, most production companies would opt for an option deal rather than a total screenplay purchase. This means they pay you a lot less initially, but you still hold all the rights to the story if they fail to develop a film by the expiry date of the option. If you are faced with this compromise, it is advisable to push as hard as you can for an one year expiry. They should purchase a second option if they want more time than that.

But how much would the first option payment be? For an unsold, uncredited, writer: Quite often zero! In any case, five thousand USD gross would be the high end of what you could expect. (Sorry to disappoint you.)

Sounds pretty crummy, doesn’t it? Well, like it or not, the reoccurring impression I got while I was in LA is that your first sale is always modest. It is from the second sale, onwards, that you start to accumulate greater and greater bargaining power.

I should also mention that fully professional screenwriters in LA really pay their bills with the money they get from writing assignment work for studios and production companies. Any script sales they win (“spec sales”) are a bonus on top. Even the best of them don’t score a spec sale every single quarter.

In the first half of 2010, a total of 28 spec sales have been sealed in LA.
(source: Jason Scoggins)

This represents just 15% of what has been put on the market.

But suppose … Just suppose … After a couple of years of clever networking, all the dominoes fell the right way for you. Thanks to an alliance of a hot young gun agent, an enthusiastic producer’s assistant, and a good entertainment attorney, you are in the position of scoring a 100k screenplay sale with a “mini-major” production company. Time to look for a beachside property in Santa Monica, right?

Not so fast! There are a few cash flow nitty-gritties to worry about even then.

The first thing you need to understand is that the production company will not release the whole of the 100,000 USD in one go.

Instead, the 100k gross will be divided up into instalments. Where each instalment is payable upon delivery of a completed rewrite. Typically there will be a down payment to start you off, followed by lesser increments thereafter. Suppose, in this case, the down payment is 30%.

So the first pay cheque that arrives on your letter box will be 30,000 USD.

Not a bad return for six months of writing and pitching, I admit … Except that this cheque won’t arrive straight away.

In practice, it can take many additional months of wrangling before the 100k total sale figure is finally agreed upon by all parties. On top of that, the company’s accounts department can be expected to drag the chain for several weeks more. I guess the bean-counters need to have lots of cups of tea and committee meetings before they can send you your first cheque. Annoying but unavoidable.

So the bottom line is that the thirty percent down payment can be delayed for long months after your first meeting with the execs. Which means that the 30k reward represents more like 12+ months of work, rather than 6. You better not be behind your rent while staying in LA!

But the fun and games are not over even then.

Once the 30k cheque arrives, various parties get to take their percentages of this figure before you get the leftover. These parties include your agent, your manager, your attorney, the IRS, and the WGA. The carcass that’s left for you can be as little as 45% of the face value of the cheque. Not a great feeling, but then all businesses have their costs. Things are only simple in wage world.

Now look: I don’t mean to tell you all this to murder your dreams. On the contrary, my purpose here is to forewarn you about cashflow realities even when you do score a screenplay sale. Can you imagine the financial damage you can do to yourself if you are not awake to these considerations?

In summary, your first screenplay sale will not catapult you to the stratosphere. However it does represent an important milestone. Namely, the beginning of your career as a going professional. Be proud of that achievement by all means. But don’t go silly about it. Be sober, rather than crazy, when you win your first sale.

-Steven Fernandez

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia. He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

Acknowledgement: I wish to thank Ben Sitzer for fact-checking.

HOW THEY THINK

Are you writing, or already have written, an epic story that requires a production budget worthy of Peter Jackson or James Cameron?  And you’re absolutely bursting to ‘wow’ LA studio execs with your brilliance, right?  And your brilliance is so indisputable that they will have the sense to put aside the little inconvenience of you not being a sold screenwriter yet, right?  After all, a world wide gross of 400 million (plus) is too great a deal to turn down, right?

Well, hold on there a minute.  The nitty-gritty of financing is more complicated than that.

That much I learned mid last year when I was pitching an epic of my own to many LA execs.

Any big budget production requires either the attachment of
big names, or the existence of “pre-existing material” – or both.

Even though the majority of the execs I pitched to were intrigued by what I was proposing, they respectfully pointed out to me that they couldn’t forward the project to their superiors just like that.  Principally because any big budget production requires either the attachment of big names, or the existence of “pre-existing material” – or both.  Pre-existing material can be as little as one published novel, or as much as multiple generations of cultural influence, such as in the case of comic book superheroes.

In fact, most advisors and execs in LA will tell you to finish your script and shelve it for later.  Their thinking being that such a screenplay is way too ambitious for your first screenplay sale.

Instead, your first sale should involve a contemporary drama (or comedy or horror) that would cost only one or two million US dollars to produce.  Importantly:  This does not mean that you should think small in terms of quality of story, characterization, plot twists, and so forth.  On the contrary!

Low budget does not have to mean low brow.

You should put the maximum of your writing talent into making that screenplay pop with fascinating characters, unusual plot twists, and compelling conflict.  Low budget does not have to mean low brow, after all.

DELAYED GRATIFICATION

Then, once you have made a sale, you can present a second screenplay that involves more crash-bang spectacle such as ten car pile ups, characters with mutant powers, far out CGI dream sequences, or whatever.  Such a screenplay may well fall short of your original epic, but at least it is a realistic extension of the credibility you have already established in the industry in LA.

Following this logic, it would be advisable to hold off pitching the epic until you come to making your third sale.

This is not at all to say that you are not allowed to mention your epic before then.  You can!  In fact, it is theoretically possible that your energetic description of this epic as a “by the way” of a more modest pitch could open real doors for you.  Doors that could indirectly fast track the sale of the epic.  Consider the following as an example of that:

Typical Situation:  An exec or producer hears your main pitch.  She is sufficiently interested to ask for your ‘one-sheet’.  Then she asks “What else do you have?”.  You mention two or three other story ideas you have, including the epic.

It would be advisable to hold off pitching the epic
until you come to making your third sale.

Possible Outcome:  She asks “Tell me more about that fantasy one.”  You go into more detail.  She’s fascinated, despite the fact that it is not her company’s usual genre.  Yet she knows Larry, who is looking for a fresh writer to polish the script for X Men 5, which is still in development.  She tells Larry when they next have a coffee and catch-up.  Larry calls you.  Meetings happen.  You are hired to polish the script.  Larry is impressed with your work enough that hE is willing to refer your epic to a studio heavyweight.  Suddenly (or so it seems) you are in a position to market a big budget screenplay a lot sooner than you otherwise could have!

And this fortuitous concatenation of events all happened because of your mere mention of the epic as just a side idea.

WRITE THE NOVEL

For the sake of completeness, I should mention a completely different strategy for marketing your epic screenplay:  Write the novel first.

As a matter of fact, this is the strategy LA execs advised me to adopt for the case of my own epic.  And one of them even suggested that the novel does not have to have sold fantastically well for it to be seriously considered by a studio.  Though, even if that much is true, I would never suggest that you should settle to aim for mediocre sales with the novel.

Put it this way:  If you pull off writing a published bestseller then you have proven that you are good at storytelling.  Which means you are not some lowly no-name writer who merits only a third class remuneration package.

In other words, putting the blood and sweat into writing a great novel now will pay off in placing you in a much stronger bargaining position later.  In addition, it also places you in a stronger position in terms of creative influence over the film’s production.  As studios will be reluctant to make radical departures from a proven bestseller.  (Note well:  ‘Influence’ in this case does not mean full creative control.  Like any other business venture, ultimate control always rests on the one who signs all the expense cheques!)

If you pull off writing a published bestseller
then you have proven that you are good at storytelling.

So, in summary, the best time to pitch your epic screenplay is when you have established your storytelling power as a commercially solid proposition.  This can be by way of screenplay sales or novel sales.  Though good networking, and perhaps some serendipity, can certainly give you some short cuts in the process.

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia. He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.

Rather than a lengthy response in the comments, here are some thoughts on the agent’s commission percentage and hiring an entertainment attorney instead of having an agent.

1) 10% commission from agents rather than 15%

10% agent commission seems to be closer to the market mean.

As a relative newbie in the big world of screenwriting business, I spent most of my LA time with development execs and producers and only minimally with agents (for the reason that the execs and the producers are the people that matter and are the ones who are buying).

The fundamental point in the essay that prolificity of output is the critical factor for agents is a finding synthesised from multiple people who were all independent from each other. It is not a point that should be dismissed.

Ditto for the last point that no reputable agent slugs you with an upfront fee.

2) Why bother with agent if you have a script sale + entertainment attorney already.

In principle, the difference between an agent and an attorney is that the agent is a haggler for better conditions whereas the attorney is a fine print checker.

Theoretically, a typical attorney will only ensure that the terms and conditions of the sale or option deal are not below industry par, that the deal contains no glaring gaps where the producer can exploit film profits without letting you have a cut, and so forth.

This is not the same as saying that the attorney will make any effort to *maximise* the benefits that you could win after some wrangling with the producer. (That is supposed to be the agent’s role.) In principle, an attorney’s job is not to try to get the best deal for you that can possibly be squeezed out of the party. It is merely to make sure you are not being swindled with the deal that is currently on the table.

In practice, I have gathered that it’s a little more complicated than that in LA.

Firstly, a *good* attorney may well be prepared to exercise some proactivity to ensure you get an improvement on terms and conditions, where such a move is feasible/realistic given your market status and the quality of the screenplay. Such proactivity would mean he is playing a quasi-agent role for you.

(By the way: As in all types of businesses, “good” does not necessarily mean high-fee-charging or big name. For example, a talented young gun wanting to establish a market prescence will have the enthusiasm and energy to deliver above-average service for his first clients, with the expectation that they’ll come back to him for more business.)

Secondly, there ARE entertainment attorneys in LA who parade themselves as being BOTH a haggler AND a fine print checker. I am not in a position to authoritively comment how well such two-in-ones perform on average. My best guess is that it all depends on the specific experience, intelligence, and energy level of each individual attorney-agent.

(The general business adage that a jack of all trades is ‘a master of none’ is right some of the time in my own general business experience. But not always!)

Thirdly, in the case of a screenwriter’s first script sale, what I have gathered is that you can not seriously expect to exert much bargaining clout. For you’re still only a new-name even with a definite sale being wrangled out. (My sense is that it is in the SECOND screenplay sale that you start being able to qualify for extra ‘goodies’ in your sale contracts.) So, in this context, there may be an argument to not bother with an agent at that stage.

Factoring all these considerations into account, my recommendation is that, in the case of your first screenplay sale, the engagement of an agent (or not) could well come down to a knife-edgey cost-benefit judgement call.

IF you have a proactive and cluey attorney and IF you are yourself a native LA-ite with some contacts in the film industry already, then you probably could get away with not bothering with an agent with your first sale.

If, however, you are an out-of-towner, new to the country, let alone to LA city, with no industry contacts or mentors yet, I would suggest that you engage an agent and suffer the commission … As you are prime fresh meat for exploitation.

If you exist somewhere in-between these two poles, then it really would be a down-the-wire cost-benefit call you are just going to have to sit down and decide for yourself.

I hope this is helpful and clear.

And …

3) The feasibility of one great script versus four good ones.

On paper, it would seem that it is better to win a commission that nets, say, 200k in one go for the whole year, than to work on four separate scripts that net, say, 50k each.

(Important Note: These figures are illustrative only! I don’t claim to be yet industry savvy enough to know how representative these numbers are in the real hurly-burly of LA deal-making!)

But there are business cashflow considerations to factor in here. Can a given agency AFFORD to wait for an extra, say, 5 weeks with no income to pay the rent on the premises, the electricity bill, the wages of the administrative staff, etc, until it finally receives the great lump sum award?

If a particular agency is managed with tight fiscal discipline and/or has multiple reliable deals being hammered out at any one time, ALL the time, then maybe it can afford the wait.

But my general experience (at least in Australia) is that most businesses are nowhere near so well managed finacially. They could never afford to wait 5 weeks without suffering a major cashflow crisis. I have reasons to believe that Americans, on average, are cannier entrepreneurs than the average Australian business person, so my past experience may be skewered here.

But, then again, human nature is such that most people – even business people – do not exercise great fiscal discipline even when there is a practical, bottom-line, long term gain to be had by doing so. So I’m willing to bet that most agencies prefer the cashflow convenience of quicker, smaller, sales than the long haul of a big sale.

Though, at the same time, I absolutely do not rule out the exceptional few in LA who may well be able to ride out the longer wait and therefore pocket the greater gain. There are some *really* sharp operators in that town!

I hope I have now made the logic behind my claim in the essay clear.

That’s all from me.

-Steven Fernandez

Steven Fernandez is a writer-director of short films and theatrical shows in Sydney, Australia. He is currently writing Human Liberation – an epic novel and screenplay package set in mythic ancient Greece.