Every structure model is academic. There really are no rules. Instead, these systems are merely tools to allow us to communicate about story.

In the course of my screenwriting training career, I have always strived for simplicity. What we need in screenwriting, is an MVP, a Minimum Viable Product: the simplest possible system that still delivers the results for you. So you can focus on the creative aspects rather than the ‘how to‘.

Ideally, each screenwriter develops their own method. Only, there wouldn’t be much communication in that screenwriting utopia, as each were to use a different language.

As a thought experiment, I would like you to consider my approach to the Grand Story Arc: the 2-Act Structure. Before we venture into that, let’s brush up on the 2 main competing approaches: the 3-Act Structure (mostly for film and TV half-hours) and the 4-Act Structure (mostly for one-hour TV).

The 3-Act Structure

Although different people use different criteria to determine act breaks, I like a combination of dramatic tension and Hero’s Journey. In my approach, you will find that:

1. Act One ends once the main character’s goal is clear; either to the audience, to the characters itself, or both. Then, in Act Two we see the active pursuit of that goal.
2. Act Two ends after the character has almost given up on that goal, but finds a final reason or clue to push through.
3. Act Three sees the character’s final – and mostly successful – action in pursuit of that goal.

A massive problem of the 3-Act Structure is that chunky mid-act. Most writers struggle to create interesting story material that sustains 45-60 minutes. This is why the Mid Point is so important. I prefer calling it the Mid Point Reversal because in great stories, a very important value is completely reversed.

(It’s about time I write another piece about this, after early attempts in 2006 and 2009.)

Just because this Mid Point Reversal is so critically important, I believe the 4-Act Structure is a really helpful way of approaching screen story structure.

And look, in one-hour TV drama, we already have 4 acts, as the act breaks are roughly every 15 minutes on the ‘TV clock’. So before we move on to the mysterious 2-Act Structure, let’s examine the 4 acts.

The 4-Act Structure

This structure is no different than the 3-Act Structure, with the only difference that we have an act break for the Mid Point reversal.

So what does this Mid Point Reversal do that it is so important?

Let’s first look at what other authors and teachers think (that I don’t necessarily agree with).

1. It’s a point of no return.
   Yep, that may well be, but both act breaks are also points of no return.
2. It raises the stakes.
   Like those other act breaks, you mean? More proof the Mid Point is more like an act break.
3. It’s a false victory or false defeat.
   In fact, it is most often a false victory followed by a false defeat. A kiss and a slap.

The Mid Point Reversal

Here is what I think the Mid Point Reversal (MPR) really means … and it supports the 2-Act Structure beautifully:

1. A reversal of fortune
   In Groundhog Day, Phil (Bill Murray) believes his scheme has worked when Rita (Andy MacDowell) kisses him. But she immediately sees through the con, and slaps him.
   In The Untouchables, Eliot Ness (Kevin Costner) achieves a major win by stopping a liquor transport at the Canadian border, and he seizes the accountant’s ledger, but at the end of the sequence one of his ‘untouchables’ is murdered.
2. A reversal of approach
   In the first half of Die Hard, McClane tries getting help from the outside. At the MPR he receives it, only to realise he now has to solve the problems himself because the outside help is making matters worse. A reversal, indeed.
   In One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest McMurphy tries to stay in the asylum, but after the mid point he tries to get out. Quite the opposite!
   In The Incredibles, Mr Incredible works [inadvertently] for Syndrome until the MPR. Here, he learns the truth about all the Supers, and now he will fight Syndrome. The ally becomes an enemy (or Shadow, in Hero’s Journey terms).
   In Avatar, Jake first works with the military against the Navi’, but after the MPR this reverses, and he now fights with the Navi against the military.

I am a huge fan of great mid points, and I will dedicate a full article to this soon. Meanwhile, see if you can find the meaning of the MPR in your favourite films. It is not always as clear as in the examples above, but you may be surprised…

The 4-Act Structure proves that the MPR has fully fledged act-status. It is just as important as the other act breaks.

In fact, I think it is even more important.

The 2-Act Structure

In many great movies, at the MPR two major reversals occur. One is often experienced as the result of an EVENT – or series of events – that happens to the character; this is the reversal of fortune. The other is a reversal in the way the character pursues the goal, or ACTION; This we call the reversal of approach.
In the greatest movies, this reversal is so profound that it sometimes feels as if we are entering a whole new movie altogether. Do you remember Life Is Beautiful? The first half of this incredibly successful foreign language Oscar winner was a love story, the second was … a World War II-drama.

Because the MPR really cuts the movie in two in a way that is much more obvious than the break from act 2 into 3, I would propose to do exactly this: cut the movie in two at the halfway point.

Voilà. The 2-Act Structure is born.

Two Parts Of The Journey

Michael Arndt, writer of Little Miss Sunshine and Toy Story 3 gives us another strong argument to support the 2-Act Structure.

After the Inciting Incident, the hero responds with actions that demonstrate the character flaw. Michael Arndt calls this the hero’s flawed response.

The MPR mostly starts with what looks like a major win for the character (false victory). Whatever approach they took, it worked! Then, they’re put with both feet on the ground, and they suffer a major loss (false defeat). These two polar opposites are part of the same MPR.

The negative polarity, the loss in the MPR, is a major event, and it actually looks very much like a second Inciting Incident, effectively testing the hero’s response after what they learned in the preceding story stage.

This time around, the hero will change their attitude, and respond in a way that shows they have learned something, or are learning.

See? There really are two parts to the story. Here is how I would summarise it.

Act One
The hero experiences the (first) Inciting Incident.
The response to the Inciting Incident is flawed, as they continue their dysfunction.
They enjoy a major win, and for a moment it seems the goal is (almost) achieved.

Act Two
The hero experiences a second Inciting Incident, as part of the MPR.
The response to this MPR Inciting Incident is the right response, as now the Hero makes an effort to improve, to heal.
They enjoy a final win, and we trust that in the future they will continue to act in the right way.

What do you think?

I believe the 2-Act Structure is a simple, appealing way of looking at the character’s journey, both in terms of plot and theme.

This approach recognises what some people call the ‘Inner Journey’ and the ‘Outer Journey’ in one simple, integrated model.

There is no need to throw out whatever structural tools you have been using up to this point, but perhaps this sheds a new, fresh light on how stories for the screen are structured from a bird’s eye perspective.

Let me know if the comments in this approach makes sense to you, and if you would like to use it in the development of your own stories.

– by Karel Segers

– Karel

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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:: Screenplay Review – Norm The Movie
:: Act Structure By Minute? 

Script Perfection

:: Screenwriting Tips: “Write What You Know” Doesn’t Mean…
:: Breaking In: Are Screenwriters “Born This Way”?
:: Dialogue and Dialog
:: “Where Do You Get Your Ideas From?”

Pitching & Selling

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:: The Best Drama on TV
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_______________________________

With thanks to Jamie C.

Enjoy!

Karel

Jamie Campbell

Jamie Campbell is an author, screenwriter, and television addict.

Jamie is proud to be an Editor for The Story Department.

Her latest series Project Integrate is out now.

jamiecampbell.com.au

For years, I blindly followed this dogma, as it seemed to make a lot of sense. Learn from good and bad examples. Don’t we all do that in other fields? With hundreds of screenplays readily available for download from www.script-o-rama.com, www.imsdb.com and other sources, it appeared to be a quick and easy way to study the craft of scriptwriting.

But does it?

On average, I try to watch a movie a day, either in the cinema or on DVD. With the birth of my son late 2004, that became a bit more of a challenge. I found myself falling asleep in the second act. To remedy the ‘early fatherhood syndrome’, I would make notes, forcing myself to stay awake. As long as I had the discipline, I would even type them up into structural diagrams.

Suddenly, I had a revelation: the more I liked the film, the easier it was to find the Aristotelian three act structure and the principles of dramatic tension.

Revelation? Hardly.

What was truly phenomenal was that to crack the key to the film’s story structure, it had taken me only the duration of the film plus a few minutes. If I had read the screenplay instead, I’d have spent hours reading and taking notes – and only then would I be able to start work on piecing together the structure. A finished film underscores the drama in ways that help you identify the importance of the beat, scene or sequence: through music, fades or the use of light and colour (Soderbergh’s TRAFFIC is an extreme example).

At the time of writing I was developing a story with Wojciech – “Aerosol” – Wawrzyniak, whose structure is vaguely similar to Kenneth Brannagh’s MARY SHELLEY’S FRANKENSTEIN (thank you, Chris) so we decided to read the screenplay and watch the movie.

That’s when the true value in reading screenplays became apparent: it allows you to compare script and finished film. It shows the areas where filmmakers struggled, where what was on the page didn’t translate into what was onscreen.

Comparing script and film also reveals where directors made last minute decisions because they didn’t believe the script worked (or more often, the money ran out). A great example is the Chicago Train Station climax in THE UNTOUCHABLES. Mamet’s original Third Act had Capone’s accountant going on the train, with a chase and shootout following. However, De Palma had blown the budget and was forced to improvise.

For years, De Palma had been dreaming of shooting a homage to Eisenstein ‘Odessa Steps’ sequence from THE BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN. A budget issue in THE UNTOUCHABLES finally threw the opportunity into his lap. In my view, reading lots of screenplays is the hard way to learning how to write good stories. However, analyzing a few classic scripts in terms of language, style and formatting may help you find the right balance to turn your final draft into a better read.

– Karel

I have said before 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.

The Dept Revisited – A rerun of the best of the Story Dept.

A few things to consider before you take your pick:

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.

– Karel Segers

Karel Segers is a producer and script consultant who started in movies as a rights buyer for Europe’s largest pay TV group Canal+. Back then it was handy to speak 5 languages. Less so today in Australia.
Karel teaches, consults and lectures on screenwriting and the principles of storytelling to his 6-year old son Baxter and anyone who listens.
He is also the boss of this blog.

[this post was originally published on 9 September 2009 and selected for rerun by Adrian]

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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The feature length follow-up to the 2004 Academy Award Best Animated Short Film winner HARVEY KRUMPET, MARY & MAX opened Sundance earlier this year.

M. Rodriguez spoke with writer-director Adam Elliot and producer Melanie Coombs about the writing process, festival fun and the move from short to long form claymation.

Interview by M. Rodriguez
Editor: Cleo Mees

TSD: I’m curious about your writing process – do you storyboard? Because I understand that a lot of animators prefer to storyboard and then write a script.

AE: No, I’m the other way round. I’m obsessed with the script. A lot of writers start with the three act structure and the plot, and then add detail. I start with the detail, and hopefully there will be a plot by the second draft. I start by thinking, “I want to have snails in this film – how am I gonna get snails in there?” So I have all these ingredients to thread together and that takes time.

I use a lot of adjectives in my scripts. I read other short film scripts and think to myself, where are the adjectives? “The man walked through the door…” That’s boring! How about, “The man with the long grey beard walked through the broken door”? I probably overuse adjectives. I don’t like to leave things out, I like the script to be as jam-packed as possible.

TSD: Why did you write your own script and not choose to work with a collaborator?

AE: I’m just too selfish. Even collaborating with animators and cinematographers, I found it difficult. We had script assessors and Melanie’s the script editor. But I think it’s the one part of the process where you have absolute control. Once we got into the studio I had to learn to collaborate and give away a bit more. And writing the script is the part I enjoy the most.

“A lot of writers start with the three act structure and the plot, and then add detail. I start with the detail, and hopefully there will be a plot by the second draft.”

TSD: Is there any difference in writing a script for claymation?

AE: No, when I write the script I imagine the characters as real. I think that keeps the characters more authentic. Some animators start with a drawing, whereas I’ll think of my pen friend, who the film is based on. If Disney are at one end, I’m at the other [end of animation productions]. There are no magic fairies in my scripts. It’s all about trying to create characters in a real, grounded world that we all identify with.

TSD: Do you describe how the characters would react and what their expressions are in the script?

AE: More so in the storyboards – where I do a lot of facial expressions. The storyboard is an elaboration of the script, but that’s more for the camera department and the animators. And it’s also a way to think up visual humour.

TSD: How did you enjoy yourself at Sundance?

AE: (Laughing) You don’t enjoy yourself at Sundance. It would have been more enjoyable has we gone as short-filmmakers or as people just going to see films – or even as filmmakers whose film wasn’t opening night. It was so much hype, so much expectation!

My job as director was to tell people, “It’s just a film. It has flaws.” And because it was cold outside [the theatre] everyone was packed inside. Everyone had had way too many coffees, and people were worrying about who would buy the film… The whole experience was just so intense!

The part I did enjoy about Sundance was the question-and-answer sessions after the screenings. Because I knew then that, even though we didn’t make all the reviewers and all the critics happy, we’d made the most important people happy – the audience. We knew that at least in America, or at least in Mormon country, we’d got a positive response.

MC: It was absolutely extraordinary! To think that we’re Australians, and that in its 25th year… Sundance is the touchstone festival for independent filmmakers around the world.

As a short film and documentary filmmaker, you’re always struggling to get noticed. But here, coming out of your party on the opening night and already finding a review that someone has posted at 2 a.m. is just like, “Whoa, we’re in a different world now.” I think we didn’t get nervous because it all felt so surreal.

“I think it’s your job as a director to be engaging and to really push the boundaries. My aim with Mary and Max was to create a lead character that you would never have seen anywhere else.”

TSD: This is a melancholic story about loneliness and acceptance with human simplicity and humour in your dialogues. How do you get that down on paper?

AE: In all my films, I try to get the balance between humour and pathos, and to get the right rhythm of storytelling – you know, having a bleak moment and then a comic moment without the audience getting distracted. And it’s really just an intuitive thing – writing, rewriting, reviewing and getting feedback.

The example I always use is my short film, Cousin. There’s a static shot where Cousin is standing in a picture frame with his mum and dad, and we hear that his parents have been killed in a car accident. At the same time, Cousin is wearing a t-shirt that says, “I Yodel for Jesus”. Audiences never know what to do with that moment, because they see the t-shirt and want to laugh, but they’re also hearing that information. You know, it’s like they’ve been belted over the head twice. But it keeps them awake, engaged, and it challenges them.

I think it’s your job as a director to be engaging and to really push the boundaries. My aim with Mary and Max was to create a lead character that you would never have seen anywhere else. Parts of him you’ve seen in other characters, but not as a whole. The same goes for Cousin, although Asperger’s is in a lot of films now and autism is in a lot of documentaries. It’s out there, and that‘s great because it means that people are being educated about the phenomenon.

MC: Adam’s storytelling style is the voice of an innocent in a complicated world. It’s not naïve. It’s like when you see a kid on a bus that suddenly screams to his mum, “Mum, mum! Why’s that man only got one leg?” The kid doesn’t know that’s rude. He’s just saying it because it’s true.

I first met Adam when I saw Cousin. After the film I went up to him said, “That’s the best film I’ve ever seen about a disability.” It was only a four minute animation, but it was just so honest. It wasn’t politically correct in that mean spirited way. It was like, that’s right, he does have a funny arm that moves up and down. People with cerebral palsy just have that sort of thing, and to not say those things is also incorrect.

TSD: I also noticed you’ve really exuded that irreverent Australian humour in the film…

AE: Yeah, the self-deprecating thing – which is something I think Americans struggled with in the film. What did they say? “Too many scatological references.” And they’re right, there are too many poo-gags. They’re for the kids… [laughs] No, but it is being irreverent and trying, again, to push the boundaries. My dad was an acrobatic clown, and he always said, “Don’t get carried away with being too serious in your films. There’s nothing wrong with being an entertainer.”

MC: The thing about America is that they don’t have the history of Wallace and Gromit, so they associate claymation with a pre-school, Bob-the-Builder kind of thing. So, for them to see Asperger’s syndrome, and references to prostitutes and homeless people and drugs and alcohol and attempted suicide, and homosexuality [in the film] – all the phobias… Well, it actually reminds me of a comment we got when we took Harvie Krumpet to L.A.

“The animation community is very open – we share our secrets – and these cameras had only just come out, so we were the guinea-pigs, basically.”

At one of the studios’ Q&A sessions, a woman put up her hand and asked, “Who let you make that [film]??” I loved that comment! It was just so American. I mean, she clearly loved the film but she must have been thinking, “I love this, but how on earth did it happen?” The heart towards independent filmmaking is different in every country, but independent films do not have any government subsidy (in the U.S.), and the idea that you can make a film purely for cultural reasons and get government support for it is something they think we’re really fortunate to have.

I tried to explain to them how difficult it is – that it’s really competitive and only 25 films get made a year [in Australia], and so on – and they sort of understand that, but the idea that we could put every phobia that Adam wanted in the script without someone telling us, “Oh, you can’t say that!” is still something they’d say we’re very fortunate.

TSD: I hear you got Aardman’s attention, and they came to visit you on set?

AE: Yeah, they sent a technician over because they’re about to go fully digital. They’re not going to use their film cameras anymore – so we’re told, and they just wanted to look at our system because there weren’t any other feature films being done in the same way. Our post-producer, Henry Karjalainen set up the system himself so that we got very high production values at a fraction of the cost. And they were fascinated as to how we did this! We were using local software from people down in Melbourne. Because most of the money was state-government money [Victoria], we were under a mandate to do things as locally as possible. The animation community is very open – we share our secrets – and these cameras had only just come out, so we were the guinea-pigs, basically. They wanted to see whether we’d died [filming] or not.

TSD: How do you feel that the process has changed since creating your first film, Uncle, and now that you’re doing it digitally?

AE: I don’t’ animate anymore, but our animators on Mary and Max said they found it liberating. They could see everything in high definition; they didn’t have to wait for their rushes to come back from the lab – they could see it within minutes of it being finished. So, suddenly they could do things that they never were able to do before. And that’s great for the whole worldwide animation community.

When I think of my first film, Uncle, which was shot on a little 16mm Bolex camera, it was a very different process. And it’s evolved for the better. When I left film school – I was at the VCA – I was told I was pursuing a “dying art form”.

TSD: But you were pushed to do Uncle as a claymation, right?

AE: Yeah, Uncle was accidental. I was going to do the film as a 2D animation, and there were seven other animators doing 2D films. There was a spare studio and a spare camera, and they said to me, “We think your film would look better as clay.” So I said, “Alright,” and off I went. My dad had a hardware shop at the time, so I got all the cheap wood and nails and glue… not thinking that this is what I would do! I thought I’d do kids TV or kids animation – something where I’d get paid well.

TSD: But you’re happy doing this?

AE: Yeah, some of my friends are 2D animators and I say to them, “How can you sit in front of that screen all day??” I love to get my hands dirty – I love cooking and I love gardening. If I don’t have stuff under my fingernails, I don’t feel alive.

“So I went out and bought a bottle of red wine, then I said to Adam, “Now, we never have to make it – it’s just for these meetings tomorrow, but by the time we finish this bottle of red, we’ve got to have a story.” That night I prodded away at him, until he started, “Well, I’ve got this pen-friend…” And I said, “Gold! Let’s go.”

TSD: Adam, you mentioned earlier that you left the animation to six animators [for Mary and Max]– were you very hands on during the shoot?

AE: No, but I did a lot of approving. I was always the first to arrive at the studio and the last to leave, and I did seven-day weeks for a year and a half, which was exhausting. But I’m a control freak and I have to have absolute control over everything, from a knife and a fork to a giant set. I even did all the character designs. I mean, in hindsight I could have let go of some of that. But because it was my first feature, I didn’t want it to look that different to Harvey Krumpet. I wanted people to look at Max and think, “That looks like an Adam Elliot drawing”. [Laughs] Someone worked out that it would take 225 years for me to make Mary and Max all by myself.

TSD: And how have you seen yourself evolve as a filmmaker, from your first film to your first feature now?

AE: I think it’s only in the last couple of years that I’ve been able to look back at my scripts and see why I’ve done them the way I have, and how they’ve become what they are. I think really good writers are angry writers. And I don’t like injustice. In the school playground I was always the one befriending the bullied kids – the kids that had autism or that were racially ridiculed, that didn’t have many friends. I wanted to learn more about them, and I wanted to defend them. So I think what I’m trying to do now with my films is to fight on their behalf – and entertain at the same time – without being preachy or too dogmatic. And I think audiences appreciate it.

MC: To me, all of Adam’s work is about accepting difference. The important thing his work says is that being open to difference is hard, but it’s ultimately totally rewarding. It’s what makes life worth living. And everyone, no matter how revoltingly different we all are or feel, craves love and acceptance.

Also, so often in life now, you’re being told to privilege either financial success or a romantic relationship. What about friendship? When your lover leaves you, who do you call? This film is really about the power of friendship in our lives and how important it is for us all.

TSD: Melanie, how did you get Adam to sit down after Harvie Krumpet winning that Oscar and write a feature? Because I know after Harvie, Adam was hoping to make a television series…

MC: Well, the studios actually said no to that idea. The way things work in the US is that they plan everything for you, you can’t do much yourself. After Harvie, our US agents said to us, “We’ve got all these studios lined up for you to meet. What are you going to pitch?” We said that we were thinking of a 13×5 minute series. To which they said “No, no, no! You’ve got to have a feature idea. Just come up with one just to meet these people.”

So I went out and bought a bottle of red wine, then I said to Adam, “Now, we never have to make it – it’s just for these meetings tomorrow, but by the time we finish this bottle of red, we’ve got to have a story.” That night I prodded away at him, until he started, “Well, I’ve got this pen-friend…” And I said, “Gold! Let’s go.” So we based it on his real relationship, except we made Adam – Mary, an eight-year-old girl to add a fictional element to it.

TSD: Well that was easy, I thought it would be hard because you said Harvie took you all over the world and you got so many different offers…

MC: Well, it was only because I literally told Adam, “I promise you we never have to make it.”

The studios didn’t really want us to make the film at first. What they would really like Adam to do is a children’s film. Which wouldn’t really be an Adam film, it would be a kiddie claymation. And that’s not why we’re filmmakers. We’ll probably never be super-rich, but we’re filmmakers because we genuinely believe in the passioned project of being Australian storytellers, and in the project of an Australian cultural life.

TSD: What do you do in your free time? I know you are passionate about meeting children or people who have disabilities. Do you get involved in these communities?

AE: After the Oscar win, many charities asked me to become associated with them, but I quickly learned that it’s best to focus on just one charity. I was approached by the Disabled Film Festival – I don’t use the word “disabled” a lot but that’s what they choose to call themselves – and I became their patron. I raise awareness about their festivals and their films, and I also get to meet some amazing filmmakers.

I don’t have a lot of spare time – but I enjoy cooking, and I’d love to spend some time drawing again. You just become a slave to your film. Mary and Max has been like we’ve just given birth and I’ve got a bit of post-natal depression. I’m about to go on my first two-week holiday in three years, but after that we’ve got Berlin and all this other publicity events. You’ve got to sell the film, of course, and it’s a tough film to sell. Melanie often says that with this type of subject matter is not easy, but it is ultimately rewarding if you stick with it.

MARY & MAX opens in Australia on 9 April.

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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Here is an attempt to analyse the structural dynamics of this wonderful screenplay and film.

ACT ONE

SEQUENCE A (8.5mins): Preparations.

00.00 Opening Titles: Landscapes that express freedom.
02.00 At diner, Louise is serving & advises against smoking, then smokes.
03.00 Thelma at home, hasn’t asked husband yet for permission to leave.
03.30 Darryl patronises Thelma, humiliates her, she still doesn’t ask.
04.30 Darryl leaves in sportscar, shouts at workmen.
05.00 T. calls L.. After the manager’s innuendo, they arrange their departure.
06.00 Louise leaves, montage shows both getting ready.
07.00 Louise picks up Thelma, who carries half household with her. Polaroid.

SEQUENCE B (13mins): Departure and disaster.

08.30 Driving. T.: I didn’t ask. L.: You get what you settle for (i.e. Darryl).
09.30 Thelma is smoking, looking in the mirror: “I’m Louise.”
10.30 Dusk, Silver Bullet, going to have fun. Different responses to Harlan.
13.30 Louise is reserved, it makes Thelma nervous. Harlan shouts drinks.
15.00 Dancing, line dancing. Thelma dances with Harlan.
16.30 Louise back to table, Thelma keeps dancing. Louise wants to leave.
17.30 Thelma is unwell, they go outside. Louise is looking for Thelma.
18.30 Harlan: Not gonna hurt you. T. resists. He hits her and attempts rape.

19.30 Louise appears with gun. “Suck my dick”. She shoots. (I.I.)

SEQUENCE C (11mins): Figuring out what to do.

21.30 They escape. L. blames T. for her behaviour. Police won’t believe them.
22.30 Louise vomits. Trucks & noise everywhere. Let’s have a coffee & plan.
24.00 They try and figure out what to do. Thelma calls Hal. Nobody home.
25.30 Detective Hal with waitress: Harlan deserved it! She defends T&L.

27.30 No money. Need to figure out what to do.
28.30 They argue. Go to police? Not ready to go to jail.
29.30 T. at the pool, L. calls Jimmy for money. Do you love me?
31.30 L. & T. leave in a hurry. They have decided to run. (PP1)

END OF ACT ONE: The decision has been made to go on the run.

ACT TWO

SEQUENCE D ( 8.5mins): Organising money.

32.30 Hal’s boss: Possibly interstate. Let the FBI in on this.
33.00 Louise: Let’s go to Mexico. Are you up to this? I’m going.
34.30 L. calls Jimmy. He will send the money. I miss you, Peaches.
36.00 T. calls Darryl, he’s watching a game, judging but not concentrating.
39.00 Young handsome JD asks for a lift. Thelma is keen, Louise says no.

SEQUENCE E (10.5mins): To Oklahoma for the money pick-up.

41.00 Hal is on the case, looks up Louise’s car: ’66 Ford Thunderbird.
41.30 Louise doesn’t want to Mexico go through Texas.
43.00 Hal is investigating at Louise’s place.
43.30 Thelma and Louise are enjoying the ride.
44.00 Detective Hal is investigating at Louise’s Diner.
44.30 They see JD again; Thelma begs to pick him up. Louise gives in.

45.00 Detective Hal interviews Darryl, who is more concerned about himself.
46.00 JD to T.: Your husband sounds like a real asshole. T: he is. They bond.
47.00 JD warns them, they avoid an approaching police car.
47.30 Hal has info on Thelma’s gun etc.
48.30 They go to pick up the money. Jimmy is there, he books rooms.
50.00 JD leaves them and each go to their rooms. L. to T.: Guard the money.

SEQUENCE F (16mins): Mid Sequence, cross-cut.

51.30 Jimmy is jealous & violent. He calms down and proposes to her.
54.00 JD knocks on door. T invites him in. They have fun and make love.
1.00.0 Over breakfast Louise and Jimmy kiss goodbye.
1.04.3 T. arrives: Finally got laid properly. Left money in the room. Run!

1.06.0 Money gone. Louise breaks down. End of Thelma’s innocence.
1.07.0 T. cheers L. up, takes control and drives. Move! (MPR)

SEQUENCE G (10.5mins): Thelma has found her calling.

1.07.3 Hal & Co with Darryl. When she calls, be gentle. Women love that shit.
1.10.0 Thelma robs Store. Drive us to Mexico.
1.11.0 FB: This is a robbery // Hal & Darryl watching. Everybody is shocked.

1.12.3 Thelma brags about her robbery. Found your calling. You’re Disturbed.
1.14.0 Sexist truck driver. They think we like it.
1.15.0 Police now with Jimmy.
1.16.0 Louise with old man, gives him her jewellery.
1.17.0 L.: murder one, little defense. T.: How do you know all these things?

SEQUENCE H (8mins): Fugitives.

1.18.0 Hal blames T.’s robbery on JD. They wouldn’t have otherwise.
1.22.0 Thelma calls Darryl. He knows. L. calls, asks for police.
1.23.3 Hal knows about Mexico. T. talked. L. angry: We’re Fugitives now.

SEQUENCE I (11.5mins): Speeding towards Mexico.

1.26.0 Darryl with cops changes channel, annoys cops, changes back.
1.26.3 Driving through National Park by night.
1.28.3 Dawn. Passing sexist trucker.
1.31.0 T.: Texas. You was raped. L.: I’m not talking about that.
1.32.0 Stopped by cop: clocked at 110km/h. In trouble.

1.34.3 Thelma with gun, shoots radio. They put cop in trunk.
1.37.0 Thelma: I’ve got a knack for this shit.

SEQUENCE I (5.5mins): Dead or alive.

1.37.3 Hal: Brains only get you so far & luck always runs out.
1.38.0 Louise has doubts & regrets. Thelma justifies. Having fun, not sorry.
1.39.0 L. calls Hal: charge w/ murder;knows about Texas. Dead or alive?
1.41.3 Not giving up. Not making any deals. Dead or alive. (PP2)

END OF ACT TWO: Their fate has been sealed. T.’s arc complete.

ACT THREE

SEQUENCE J (6.5mins): Revenge.

1.43.0 Thelma feels awake.
1.44.0 They see macho trucker again. Ready to get serious? Yes.
1.46.0 They ask for an apology. Fuck that! They shoot, truck explodes.

1.48.3 Drive on.

SEQUENCE K (8.5mins): Freedom at last

1.49.3 (POV) Stoned bicycle rider, smoke into air hole.

1.50.3 Police helicopter: closing in.
1.51.3 Police cars chasing them, they go off the road. Cars follow.
1.54.0 Temporarily shake them off under bridge. Eerily quiet.

1.54.3 Thelma: crazy, first chance to express yourself.
1.56.0 They reach the edge of a cliff: Grand Canyon. Hal appears in heli.

1.57.3 Surrounded. Hal lands. Orders to surrender.
1.58.3 Louise: not giving up. Thelma: let’s keep going. (C&R)
2.00.0 They drive, hal runs.

I.I.: Inciting Incident (or Call to Adventure)
PP1: Plot Point 1 (Act 1 Turning Point / Crossing the 1st Threshold)
MPR: Mid Point Reversal
PP2: Plot Point 2 (Act 2 Turning Point / Ordeal & Reward)
C&R: Climax & Resolution (Resurrection)

PROTAGONIST

In my view, Thelma is the protagonist, for the following reasons:

1. She is prominent in the setup and we empathise/sympathise with her.
2. We may hope that she will become less submissive and find freedom.
3. Her story has a clear Inciting Incident (a major event happening to her).
4. She has a clear Mid Point Reversal.
5. She has a clear character arc.

Interestingly, if you look at Thelma’s story in isolation, the first half (before the Mid Point Reversal) she is a passive protagonist, mostly just following Louise. Only after that, she becomes an active protagonist. This passivity is counteracted by Louise’s initiative until the Mid Point.

ACT STRUCTURE

The Inciting Incident is clear: two major events happen to Thelma: Harlan’s rape attempt and Louise’s shooting Harlan. Although Louise later argues that Thelma started it because of her behaviour, Thelma’s actions are two degrees away from the Inciting Incident (Harlan’s death) that kicks off the story. Therefore, this is clearly an event happening to Thelma, not an action by her.

This leaves Thelma with the necessity to act.

The 1st Act Turning point is more problematic: Louise takes the initiative, Thelma agrees by following her. After a period of considering their options, they have decided to go on the run. Although the destination won’t be known until later, Act Two is now set in motion. In my view, this act break is reinforced by the next scene in which we learn the FBI will be on the case. This increasing of the stakes by showing the antagonist’s power is a frequently used technique to open Act Two.

The Mid Point Reversal is at the same time a reversal of fortune (loss of the money) and proof of Thelma’s change of heart. She is now committed to her inner journey towards finding her true identity (or essence) and freedom. Two events trigger this: her first fulfilling sexual experience and the realisation that she has failed to take responsibility by constantly relying on Louise. The evidence in her commitment lies in two immediate actions: she drives the car and robs the store.

The crisis occurs when they learn about the major setback that Hal knows where they are heading and he will charge them with murder. It is a crisis moment for both women: Louise has doubts and regrets, so Thelma has to make a choice. Her newly found strength is the Reward, as well as the fact that Louise hasn’t made a deal with the police. It is a strong Ordeal moment as 1) the image of death occurs when they realise it is now a matter of life or death and 2) it signifies the death of Thelma’s old identity.

At the climax, two important actions take place: 1) Thelma demonstrates her new strength when she stands up for herself in the confrontation with the sexist truck driver and 2) by saying “Let’s keep going” she commits to her new principles with her life and seals it with the ultimate act of defiance.

POINT OF VIEW

After the characters have been set up, every scene has the hero (Thelma) or the antagonist (Harlan/the police), except perhaps one or two.

Any scenes that are not told from Thelma’s POV either add to the jeopardy (as the police makes progress) or they provide comic relief (the black cyclist blowing smoke into the trunk with the cop in it).

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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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.

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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REPLICANTS, SCREENWRITERS AND DOGSWhen last year the restored BLADE RUNNER screened in Sydney in all its 4k digital splendour, I was present at the Cremorne Orpheum, on the hunt for story weaknesses. It didn’t take me long. After fifteen minutes and thirty seconds, I put the scalpel aside and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the film, i.e. Act Two and Three. (For Premium Subscribers, my brief analysis is here.)

This year the Coen brothers snatched the top Oscars despite issues with the ending of NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN. I won’t add to that discussion but if you would like to read some incisive thoughts, check out this article on the Mystery Man on Film blog.

Long before the Coen brothers won their first Oscar with FARGO, they had established themselves as favourites of the Cannes film festival with a Golden Palm for BARTON FINK. I have watched it a few times since and I still enjoy its Faustian slant, the flamboyant performances of Michael Lerner and John Goodman and the wonderful production design.

Why could BARTON FINK never appeal to a mainstream audience? It is about a screenwriter. But more importantly, the end of Act One makes a promise, then Act Two doesn’t deliver. Variety wrote at the time:

“After a little more than an hour, the pic is thrown in a wholly unexpected direction. There is a shocking murder, the presence of a mysterious box in Fink’s room, the revelation of another’s character’s sinister true identity, three more killings, a truly weird hotel fire and the humiliation of the writer after he believes he’s finally turned out a fine script.”

In essence there is nothing wrong with ‘a wholly unexpected direction’ but the problem is: no new promise is made. What do I mean by that?

The end of act one shows us what the protagonist’s objective is: Fink wants to write a screenplay. It promises a clear direction for the film. Once the murder is introduced, Fink doesn’t really have a clear objective and the story suffers from that. The film as a whole survives because of the exquisitely funny references to the real world of Hollywood in the 1940’s, the sensational performances, the amazing sound design etc.

Recently somebody mentioned WAG THE DOG (1997) to me, written by Hilary Henkin and David Mamet. In my memory, this movie was a hilarious touch of genius. Upon re-viewing, I was dumbfounded as not much of the exhilaration from ten years ago had survived for me.

Again, problemo numero uno: Hollywood behind the scenes. No matter how important we believe the workings of Hollywood are, no-one cares.

Secondly: no matter how clever, genuinely funny and genuinely TRUE the premise – don’t trust your president when he goes to war, the story is preaching to the converted. I don’t believe one single vote was gained or lost because of this film.

The core problems with this film lie on a pure story level. It seems Robert De Niro is the protagonist, his objective: fix a potential presidential scandal. Then we shift to Dustin Hoffman. His objective: stage a war. Soon, however, it appears neither are really facing any seemingly unsurmountable obstacles. Problems are solved as quickly as they arise.

Ultimately the film industry outsider is left with a self-indulgent, unsatisfying and uninvolving story. Mamet’s dialogue is brilliant but this is not the type of film I can watch more than once without an element of disappointment.

Whatever I may say about WAG THE DOG, the fans will rightfully point at the film’s respectable BO figures. Oh well. Star-power saved the dog.

PAGE RANK FOUR!

The Story Dept.’s Page Rank has gone up a full notch and I’m now in the company of such excellent PR4 blogs as The Unknown Screenwriter and the above mentioned Mystery Man on Film.

If you have the Google Tool Bar installed, you can see a white/green strip indicating the PageRank of the page you are visiting. It is usually located in the top middle of your page, under the address bar.

Last year, the world of SEO was turned on its head when millions of web sites saw their Page Rank drop. OZZYWOOD Films was one of the victims, sliding from a respectable Rank 4 to an okay 3.

In all fairness and humility, this web site may be on par for PR with Mystery Man and UNK, but no need to say yours truly will have a long way to go to deserve equal status with these boys.


THE LAW OF DIMINISHING RETURNS

Your second draft is the easiest of all. Why? Because the first draft is so bad each problem sticks out like a sore thumb. It is full of great ideas, but the execution stinks. To your editor/consultant it will be instantly obvious what needs fixing first. Hence, improving your story massively, immediately is actually a breeze.

On the other hand: the final draft is the hardest. Almost everything is as almost good as you can get it. Still, those few minor details that need fixing, jeopardise the entire rest of the script. Not only is it technically challenging, you aren’t quite sure which one is the right move. You can’t see the wood for the trees any longer.

Worst of all: after a long development you are so worn out you may be sick of this script and want to move on. You will need all the support and encouragement you can get, from your producer, your editor, your mum and dad (or wife and kids).

To move from draft one to two, it really takes only basic to intermediate skills. To move from draft eleven to twelve, it takes tremendous craftsmanship, talent and arduous persistence. Early on you will get heaps of great tips and advice from your story/script editor; towards the final draft more and more decisions will be yours: here is where your instinct comes into play.The comforting factor: it is often no longer a matter of working or not working, but of good or great. At this stage, you might have also shown the script to a few industry people, who should be encouraging you to run the last mile.

NEXT POST

With Michael Hauge’s Australia tour in May, I’ll be publishing a podcast and interview transcription, in conjunction with Inscription.

Also:
– Movie structure breakdowns (Premium)
– RATATOUILLE’s deleted scene
– Why the ‘3 Act Structure’?

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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I am not sure which film this student had in mind as a successful example of non-conventional structure, but I bet you it was PULP FICTION. Ever since 1994, filmmakers have been hoping to get away with it in the same way Tarantino did. In my view PF has done far more damage to the craft of screenwriting than its success will ever justify. The irony is that PULP FICTION is relatively conventional in its structure, just not linear. Check Linda Aronson’s book SCREENWRITING UPDATED.

But all that is completely beside the point. The point is that writers often have this immature attitude. “But my script is different.” Another one that keeps coming back: “Hollywood only makes crap, audiences really don’t want to see that stuff anymore.” This one I only heard today: “It all works in my head, the film experience will be very different from the script!”

Call me conservative but the more I learn about film, the more I am convinced audiences are conditioned by an increasingly structured type of filmmaking. Time and time again I hear people rejecting structure one minute, and raving about highly structured films the next.

Ever since the story of a boy and a princess in space 30 years ago, audiences – whether you like it or not – have been conditioned by a more sophisticated version of the 3-act structure, i.e. the Hero’s Journey. And this process has only been reinforced since that paradigm was written down by Christopher Vogler. (I almost called The Hero’s Journey ‘a structure’ but it was never really intended to be. Yet it can often be elegantly blended with the three act structure.)

LEARN THE RULES, THEN BREAK THE RULES

Despite my endless complaints about Australian writers, I have had the pleasure and honour of meeting and working with dozens of writers who are dedicated to learning the craft. They read, study, analyse, attend seminars etc.

Most of them learn with the intention of later applying what they have learned. Others take the basics on board and explore ways of being original and creative within the boundaries. Yet others fully intend to knowingly break the rules with their first screenplay.

Now that may be unwise.

The statement above reading “Learn the Rules, then Break the Rules” is in my view a dangerous one. I would rather replace it with something like:

“Master the Rules, then Bend Them.”

It often happens that screenwriters only get their first screenplay made after years of learning the craft. When the film finally hits the screen, they realises that although they believed they had learned the skills, they hadn’t. An audience is a funny thing. You want them to feel this way, but they respond that way.

As a writer you won’t know if you actually master the craft until the film goes out and is successful. Believing that you can learn the rules and break them with your first script, is a dangerous illusion.

Of course every year there will be at least one success story of a breakthrough screenplay that didn’t apply the principles. Everybody will write and talk about that one person. Bottomline: if you are in this game for the long term, it pays to look at the statistics and then review your chances.

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

I am currently working with a client on a screenplay that reminded me in some peripheral way of the French rural drama Jean de Florette, starring Gerard Depardieu and the late Yves Montand*. I watched the film again with my wife and paid attention to its structure.

Although I had seen the film at least twice before, what I found out this time, literally blew me away.

The screenplay was adapted by director Claude Berri and veteran scribe Gerard Brach, from a hugely successful original French classic by Marcel Pagnol. The film had been a breakout arthouse hit across the world, with major prizes in its home country but also in England and the U.S. where it was nominated for a Golden Globe.

My wife and I had seen this film last about ten years ago, yet neither of us remembered much of the plot. We did remember the characters and even individual scenes. Not the plot.

Why??

Because the structure is quite extraordinary.

The whole film is structured following a text-book three-act structure. Inciting incident, first act turning point, second act are all ‘tres formulaic’. But what seemed unusual to me, and the primary reason why I think this film still looked so fresh to us: the story is structured around the antagonist’s journey.

My advise: don’t try this at home. As a beginning screenwriter, make sure you try your hand at convential material before you venture into this type of territory. The screenwriters of Jean de Florette were both highly experienced, with many successes to their names. Unfortunately, although the follow-up to Jean de Florette (Manon des Sources) may have brought a more upbeat closing to the rural saga, the writing was less inspiring.

When you have the chance, do watch both films, analyse these structural exceptions and asks yourself what is different, why this one works and the other doesn’t (so well).

It is always fascinating.

*Nice coincidence: when I was out the following night my wife randomly picked the Marilyn Monroe classic “Let’s make Love” from our DVD shelf and watched it, only to find it had – again – Yves Montand in a major role.

THE WORKSHOPS WORK

More than one week to go until 10 February and the Sydney story workshop is sold out. This weekend I’ll be teaching for the first time in Queensland, at the International Film College. My next Sydney Workshop will be on Sunday 13 April and bookings are open now.

The emphasis of the workshops has shifted slightly. The first sessions were heavily theoretical, focusing on aspects of the 3-act structure. Lately I have shifted towards more practical examples from a wider diversity of films, both old and recent, across completely different genres: from action movie to comedy, from Touch of Evil (1958) and Die Hard (1988) to The Incredibles (2004) and The Lives of Others (2006).

Some people find that the material taught in these classes is advanced. Let me tell you this: it is not. It represents the bare essentials. It is the absolute minimum you need to know if you want to even consider breaking into the scene. That doesn’t mean that it will sink in the first time around. You will still need to watch films, analyse them and apply what you have learned to your own work.

Next, you will need to call in the assistance from a professional. But you will be so much better prepared to enter into a dialogue about your work if you have laid the foundations by learning the terminology. Not only will it speed up your development, it will potentially save you hundreds or thousands of dollars as your script editor will talk to you about your script on your level.

THE PREMIUM EDITION

The Premium Edition has had visitors from New York to the country of Jean de Florette (Provence, South of France), from Australia’s East and West Coasts to the City Library of Amsterdam. Meanwhile, the first paying subscribers have signed up, from Australia and overseas!

Eight users are online while I am writing this, of which no less than seven guests and a few search engine spiders. Check it out for yourself by subscribing for a year at only the cost of one cappuccino a fortnight.

Among the newly added content, Premium Members now have also access to a list of mistakes I have come across in screenplays lately, as well as a few suggestions on how to avoid them.

In the coming days and weeks new articles will be added and I will be conducting an interview with Michael Hauge (who is coming to Australia this May) and will talk about the dangers of mystery.

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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It is not enough to know and understand Syd Field’s set of phrases, as some hot shots may only be familiar with McKee. Unfortunately different people have different definitions for the exact same term.

This is my attempt to broadly define the most essential notions, informed by the best known theories, but influenced by the need to make them useful to the screenwriter rather than the analyst. Some theories are great to analyse finished films, but useless when you are stuck in your second draft. I hope that my definitions will help in identifying problems.

I will occasionally add to the list and modify definitions. If you disagree with anything or the explanation is not clear, feel free to flag this to me.

Normal Life

Also: opening, ordinary World, normal life, prologue, Journey Stage One.

Inciting Incident

Also: disturbance, catalyst, beginning

First Act Turning Point

Also: act one turning point, first threshold, first turning point, plot point one.

Mid-Point

Also: mid point reversal, point of no return, mid turning-point

Crisis

Also: ordeal, low point

Second Act Turning Point

Also: plot point two, crossing the 2nd threshold

Climax and Resolution

Sequence

Also: journey stage, block

Plot Point

See: Plot Point

Point of View

See: Point of View

From the above follows:

Act One

Some people will say this is the

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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