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With thanks to Cameron Pattison.

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

by Carson Reeves

The irony, of course, is that those same studios used Die Hard as their action template without realizing what made it great.

Yeah, it has splosions.

Yeah, Bruce Willis was perfect casting.

Yeah, the action scenes were great. But the reason Die Hard is so awesome is because of its script.

So I decided to go back to the granddaddy of contained (action) thrillers and see if I couldn’t learn a few things from it. It didn’t take long. Die Hard is chock full of screenwriting tips if you pay attention, and I’m happy to highlight ten of them for you here.

Be creative with your ticking bomb

Every action movie should have a ticking time bomb. But that doesn’t mean incorporating one of those cheap digital timers with a big flashing “120 minutes” on it. Instead – just like every element in your screenplay – you should look for a fresh alternative.

Here, the ticking time bomb is the seven locks to the safe the computer expert is hacking. It’s a clever countdown device we’ve never quite seen before (or since) and that’s why it works so well.

Smart incorporation of exposition

Most action writers think that the blood-soaked testosterone-fueled action genre gives them license to unload exposition onto the page like a garbage truck does garbage. “The audience won’t care,” they argue. “They just want to see explosions.” Errrr…wrong! Bad exposition eliminates suspension of disbelief, which in turn makes all those “explosion” scenes less exciting.

So don’t fall into this trap.

Be smooth in the way you unveil exposition. Take the scene in Die Hard where McClane is in the limo. We have to get some key exposition out about John’s on-the-rocks marriage before we get to the building.

A lazy writer might’ve had an unprovoked McClane start rambling on about his broken marriage. Instead, the Die Hard writers make McClane resistant, practically “forced” into giving up details to his overly nosey limo driver.

In fact, the limo driver is revealing (with his guesses) almost as much about McClane’s marriage as McClane is. “You mean you thought she wouldn’t make it out here and she’d come crawling on back, so why bother to pack?.” “Like I said Argyle, you’re fast.”

It’s little details like this that elevate an action script.

 

One-liners

Ahhh, the snappy action one-liner. An 80s film staple. But no film has ever approached Die Hard in this category.

In fact, 95% of one-liners you hear in action movies these days are groan-worthy. So how does Die Hard still hold up? Simple. McClane’s one-liners stem from his situation, NOT from a writer wanting to add a funny line.

When you watch Die Hard and hear McClane say, “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker,” you genuinely get the sense that he’s trying to add levity to the situation. He’s using humor to deflect the seriousness of his predicament. In other words, he’s not a mouthpiece for a clever line thought up by a writer, which is what every single one of these one-liners has been since Die Hard came out (please see The Expendables for numerous examples).

The Bad Guy is a worthy adversary

Hans is one of the greatest bad guys of all time. How can we learn   from  him to make our own bad guys memorable?

The key to Hans working is that he’s a worthy adversary to John McClane. He isn’t some paint-by-the-numbers thug.

Die Hard is one of the few action films I can remember where they made the villain as smart as the hero. Not just on paper. But you actually SEE IT. We see the FBI cutting the last lock to the safe, the only lock Hans didn’t have access to – all part of his plan. We see Hans pretending to be a hostage when he runs into McClane. By doing this, the audience has real doubts about whether our hero can outsmart this guy, which in turn pulls us in even more.

Sometimes the story dictates we do things we don’t want to do

Ideally, especially in an action movie, you’d want to introduce your main character with some sort of action scene that gives us insight into who they are. Unfortunately, the direction of the story may not afford you this opportunity.

In Die Hard, a lot of the key things we learn about McClane early on are through dialogue. On the plane with the other passenger, in the limo with Argyle, on his conversation with his wife when he gets there. Sure, it would have been nicer if we could’ve *shown* these things instead of been *told* about them. But the situation is what it is.

You need to get your main character to the building and you need the audience to know some things before he gets there. If a similar setup is required in your movie, embrace it and do the best you can with the situation.

Forced to tell something through dialogue?

Make it as seamless and interesting as you possibly can and move on.

Don’t forget to show what your hero is fighting for

In 110 pages of story, it’s easy to forget what your hero is fighting for. In this case, McClane is trying to save his wife. If, then, we don’t see his wife for sixty minutes, we start to forget what his ultimate motivation is.

In Die Hard, around the mid-point, Holly goes to Hans and asks him if she can get a couch for her pregnant friend and bathroom breaks for the rest of the hostages.

It’s a small and seemingly insignificant scene, but it reminds us and reignites our passion for why John McClane must succeed.

One of the best scenes you can write

One might argue that the most memorable scene in Die Hard is when Hans pretends to be a hostage. Part of the reason we love this scene so much is because it’s such a clever move by our villain.

But this is actually a setup for a scene that works almost every time you use it in a screenplay:

We the audience know something that our main character doesn’t – that he’s in danger – and there’s nothing we can do to help him. The tension this creates in a scene – the helplessness we feel – works on an audience almost every time, so if you have the opportunity to use it, do so. Just make sure we like your hero.

Obviously, if we don’t, we won’t be too worried when he’s seconds away from getting a bullet in the chest.

Character goals up the wazoo

There are numerous character goals in Die Hard driving the story. That’s why, even though this is just a contained action film, it feels a lot more complicated and elaborate.

McClane is trying to save his wife. McClane is trying to contact the police. Hans is trying to open the safe. Hans is trying to kill McClane. Hans is trying to find the detonators. The reporter’s trying to get the story. The FBI is trying to stop the terrorists. Al is trying to help McClane get out alive. Everybody’s got something to do in this movie and whenever they achieve what they’re trying to do, the writers give them something new to do.

If too many characters run out of pressing things to do in an action script, put a fork in your screenplay, cause it’s done.

Things get worse for our hero as the script goes on

In every action script, you want it to get tougher on your hero the closer he gets to the finish line. McClane’s feet are heavily cut, making it difficult for him to walk. Hans figures out that Holly is John’s wife and takes her hostage, making it more difficult to save her.

In the final confrontation, McClane’s only got two bullets left, making his escape unlikely. Keep stacking the odds against your hero as he gets closer to achieving his goal.

Don’t push your luck

I’ve been slurping the Die Hard kool-aid all article. In parting, I have to take one shot at the film. There’s a famous line in a Kenny Rogers song that goes, “Know when to fold’em.” At a certain point, you’ve gotten everything you’ve needed out of your screenplay. When that happens, it’s time to say “The End.”

In Die Hard, there’s a really cheesy forced moment in the final scene where Terrorist #1 bursts out of the building and Sergeant Al shoots him.

It was one beat too many and almost ruined an extremely satisfying ending. You always want to leave your audience wanting more. Resist that “one last unnecessary moment” and type “The End” instead.

And that’s that. Now before I leave, I want to pose a question to you guys, cause the truth is, I’m not sure what the answer is. Die Hard has one of the most cliché moments in all of action films in its finale. Bruce Willis points a gun at our villain who’s pointing a gun at our damsel in distress.

Could you ask for a more obvious final scenario? And yet, I was riveted. I was terrified for Holly and I was scared that Willis wouldn’t be able to save her. Outside of the obvious, “We liked the characters,” can you explain why this moment, despite being the very definition of cliché, still worked?

-Carson Reeves

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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by Jeffrey Hirschberg

Throughout my years of screenwriting I have read and analyzed thousands of scripts from writers of all levels, including screenplays from my students at Buffalo State College, Cornell University, Syracuse University’s Newhouse School, and R.I.T.’s School of Film and Animation.  Here is what I discovered during this time:

1. Assume everyone has A.D.D.

There has never been a greater truism in Hollywood. While I am guilty of playing dime store psychologist, one does not need a PhD in Clinical Psychology to conclude that audiences (that means us) tend to have short attention spans.

“Attentiveness (or lack thereof) of the audience is directly related to its ability to make a successful emotional connection.”

Now, we can argue there are certain external factors contributing to a population of diminishing attention spans (MTV, video games, text messaging, IM, and the Internet to name a few possible culprits), but it is safe to say that the attentiveness (or lack thereof) of the audience is directly related to its ability to make a successful emotional connection – and that connection must be made quickly, or you will lose your audience even more quickly.

Readers, like moviegoers, need to be entertained very quickly.

2. Spend most of your time on the first ten pages of your script

In Gladiator, we are immediately engaged as we are introduced to our hero – General Maximus – and the respect he commands from the Roman army. Add an action-packed, bloody opening battle to the mix, and we are sold.

In Pulp Fiction, the first ten pages of the script feature a restaurant robbery and the prophetic musings of two unforgettable hit men. The dialogue is fresh, imaginative, and unrelenting in its pace and originality. If you are a reader perusing the screenplay, you undoubtedly want to continue turning the page.

When you are finished with your script, give the first ten pages to a group of friends or family you trust. Then ask each of them one simple question: “Do you want to read more?” If the overwhelming response is in the affirmative, you are on the right road to writing a memorable screenplay.

3. Write roles to attract movie stars

Create a memorable hero or villain and chances are you just might attract a movie star to your script. Why? Because characters like the heroes and villains featured in my book are unique, intelligent, and intriguing people with magnetism to spare. Who wouldn’t want to play Hans Gruber, Norma Rae Webster, Hannibal Lecter, Ellen Ripley, or Gordon Gekko?

You may also want to watch films that feature Academy Award-winning roles.

Movie stars can buy anything from Porsches to Picassos; they have adoring fans throughout the world who will wait for hours to get a glimpse of them; and they are told by sycophantic agents, managers, attorneys, studio executives, PR professionals, writers, producers, and directors that they are nothing less than the great Da Vinci reincarnated.

“Who wouldn’t want to play Hans Gruber, Norma Rae Webster, Hannibal Lecter, Ellen Ripley, or Gordon Gekko?”

But, they cannot buy the respect an Academy Award affords them. So, if you can write a juicy role that will attract the attention of one or more movie stars, you just might find yourself in the midst of a studio bidding war.

4. Write economically

Throughout my years of writing and reading screenplays, one of the most common mistakes I have experienced is “overwriting.” This phenomenon often falls into two categories: 1) verbose stage direction; and

2) “on the nose” dialogue.

Verbose Stage Direction

Keep your stage direction short (I recommend trying to keep each paragraph to less than five lines) and to the point. Never forget you are writing a piece of entertainment, and stage direction should entertain as much as it informs us as to the comings and goings of your characters.

“On the Nose” Dialogue

“The point is to make the audience work a bit for the information – not too much.”

Several years ago, I sent a script to my manager and received notes including quite a few pieces of dialogue circled with the comment, “OTN.” I was perplexed and asked him to explain.

He said these were several instances where my dialogue was too “on the nose.” The point is to make the audience work a bit for the information – not too much (we don’t want to frustrate them) – but enough for them to feel emotionally involved in your story.

5. Make sure every character has a unique voice

Movies work most effectively when they are populated with characters that are unique from one another. So, you should try to –

Avoid stereotypes

One of the problems I see over and over again with new writers is the depiction of characters who feel familiar and stereotypical. The key is to go against stereotypes, thus providing your audience with the refreshing read they crave.

Surprise us with quirks and unusual traits

Every once in a while, I’ll be sitting in a movie theater and suddenly I’ll discover something fresh and unusual about one of the main characters. It is that feeling of surprise we all desire and unfortunately, those moments are few and far between.

Create someone an actor will love to play

One can only imagine Julie Roberts’ reaction when she read the script for Erin Brockovich. It is simply not the typical role afforded to actresses in Hollywood.

The hero of the film is a quintessentially strong character any actress would love to play. She is confident, bold, sympathetic, and has plenty of memorable monologues. It is a classic underdog story resulting in Roberts winning the Oscar in 2000.

“The hero of the film is a quintessentially strong character any actress would love to play.”

Transform him/her over your story

Rick Blaine in Casablanca is a great example of a hero transforming over the course of the story. At the beginning of the film he confidently states his mantra, “I stick my neck out for nobody.” But, at the end of the film, he does just that – sticking his neck out for the woman he loves.

Make everything about his/her journey difficult

We love watching our heroes struggle. What would Raiders of the Lost Ark be if Indiana Jones immediately stumbled upon the Ark of the Covenant and brought it back to America?

What if John McClane burst into the Nakatomi Christmas party and took out Hans Gruber and all of his henchmen in one momentous moment? And, what if Ellen Ripley easily discovered the Alien’s whereabouts as well as a surefire way to destroy the monster? Boring!

6. Understand your audience

When you are writing a screenplay, there are two audiences you should consider: 1) the readers, agents, managers, producers, and studio executives who will be reading your screenplay (aka, the buyers); and 2) the demographic you believe will be most interested in seeing your movie.

If your script is a comedy, it must be funny. If you are writing a horror script, it must be scary. Sounds like common sense? It isn’t. Talk to a professional reader and ask her how many comedy and horror scripts she has read of late that are actually funny and scary. “The comedy scripts are scary and the horror scripts are funny,” is the answer you just might receive.

Re: demographics: Hollywood studios like to categorize the world into four simple compartments, typically referred to as quadrants: 1) Male under 25; 2) Male over 25; 3) Female under 25; and 4) Female over 25.

If you ever wondered why every Pixar film seems to make a billion dollars in worldwide gross and ancillary revenues, it is because the company excels at making Four Quadrant movies – films that appeal equally to males and females under 25 and over 25.

7. Know your three-act structure

Like it or not, Hollywood has a language all its own. Here is what buyers expect from your script:

1. By page ten, they want to be introduced to your hero, what he wants (his goal), and the genre of the story you are telling.

2. By the end of Act One (page twenty-five or so), readers want to know exactly where this story is going, including the stakes (What happens if the hero does not achieve his goal?) and the villain (The person, place, or thing preventing the hero from achieving his goal).

3. By the midpoint (the middle of Act Two, page fifty-five or so), readers like to feel that the stakes for the hero have been raised in some fashion. Maybe a new character has been introduced. Maybe a new obstacle or villain has reared its head. Maybe the hero has experienced a distinct character transformation.

4. By the end of Act Two (page ninety or so), readers presume your hero will be in a heap of trouble. Up until now, the hero may have been steadily moving toward achieving his goal. But at the end of Act Two, things have changed. He has suddenly been put in a corner and the audience is asking itself, “How in the world is he going to get out of this one?”

5. In Act Three, readers want your hero to somehow devise a new plan and escape from the mess that has presented itself at the end of Act Two. This is the big finish.

8. Be aware of theme, and keep it consistent throughout the script

Theme is a tough nut to crack. When I ask my students the theme of Die Hard, they often restate the film’s core concept (or, in Hollywood terms, the “logline”), saying something like, “It’s about a cop thwarting a group of international terrorists while saving his wife and a bunch of innocent people.” While this is true, it doesn’t quite touch on theme.

I then dig deeper, suggesting Die Hard is really about a man trying to reconnect with his wife. True, this reconnection takes place amidst the backdrop of an action-packed heist, but at its core, this is a story about John McClane discovering the importance of family and the love and appreciation he has for his wife, Holly.

9. Watch and re-watch successful movies similar to your story

There is an old adage in Hollywood: They want the same, but different. Because the average studio picture costs over $100 million to produce and market, studios are in the risk aversion business every bit as much as they are in the movie business.

The impact on you is that these buyers of product tend to gravitate toward the familiar – stories they think will have the best chance at attracting a global audience.

10. Know what your hero wants (the goal), what happens if he doesn’t get what he wants (the stakes), and who/what is preventing him from getting what he wants (the villain)

Think about some films you haven’t loved. I bet one of the reasons there was no love connection was because they failed to answer the questions above.

In Toy Story 2, Buzz Lightyear is the primary hero whose goal is to lead a group of toys to save Woody from being sent to a museum in Japan. The primary villain of the story is Al (of “Al’s Toy Barn” fame) and the stakes are simple: If our hero and his team do not achieve their goal, they will never see Woody again.

Jaws is another movie that quickly answers our burning questions. By the end of Act One, we know Police Chief Martin Brody (with the support of Quint and Hooper) is our hero, his goal is to kill the shark, the villain is the shark itself, and the stakes are: If Brody does not achieve his goal, more residents of Amity will die.

11. Leave them wanting more

This Law seems to be as ancient as showbiz itself. Yet it is just as relevant today as it was at the turn of the twentieth century. The Law is really about crafting a memorable, climactic ending that will forever be satisfying to your audience. An outstanding ending can often save a mediocre film while a mediocre ending can often ruin an otherwise outstanding story.

So, does your climax:

1. Feel like a big, fulfilling finish?

2. Reveal a significant character trait of your hero or villain?

3. Resolve the central problem established in Act One?

4. Contain a satisfying surprise?

5. Appear five to twenty minutes or so before the end of the film?

If your story accomplishes all of the above, you are on your way to crafting a memorable tale that will live on in the memories of your audience. Happy writing!

The above article is an abbreviated excerpt from Jeffrey Hirschberg’s recently published book: “Reflections of the Shadow: Creating Memorable Heroes and Villains for Film and TV.”

Jeffrey Hirschberg is an Assistant Professor and Director of the Television and Film Arts Program at Buffalo State College. A member of the Writers Guild of America and judge for the WGA awards, Jeffrey has been a professional screenwriter for eighteen years and has written and/or created shows for Showtime Networks, Lifetime Television, and ABC. He has worked at NBC, Viacom, and Warner Bros.

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

The ‘setup’ is often a complete sequence in which we see the ‘Ordinary World’, the protagonist’s ‘normal life’, an area of the story that by its name and nature risks to be a dull stretch. We see the life of the main character before the overwhelming event that marks the real start of story.

For the solution, we go back to a lesson from Alfred Hitchcock.

Remember the difference between surprise and suspense? Surprise is when a bomb suddenly explodes. Suspense is when we know there is a bomb, and it can explode any moment.

The Inciting Incident is our first story explosion.

How do we make our audience hang in there until it explodes? By foreshadowing the Inciting Incident. By creating anticipation.

Create strong anticipation during the story setup by foreshadowing the Inciting Incident.

DIE HARD: While John McClane argues with his ex, we see bad guy Gruber et al. preparing their actions. Worse is yet to come for John.
JAWS: Swimmer Chrissie is crab meat by the time we meet with hero Chief Brody. We know the reported ‘missing person’ won’t be seen again.
TOUCH OF EVIL: In the classic opening shot we see a bomb planted on a car, it ends on the explosion. This marks Vargas’ (Heston) call to action.
OMAGH: Terrorists from the Real IRA plant the bomb that will later cause carnage in the Northern Irish town, and kill the hero’s son.
E.T.: In the opening scene, an alien is left behind on earth, 12mins later it will disturb the life of little Elliott.
THE UNTOUCHABLES: Capone’s hitmen bomb a pub and kill a girl. In the I.I., her mother calls on Eliot Ness to stop the violence.
BLADE RUNNER: At the end of the Voigt-Kampf test and before we meet with Deckard, we see replicant Leon shoot his interviewer.

Note that these examples show the foreshadowing of an Inciting Incident of such a magnitude that it would not just disturb the hero’s life, but anyone’s under the circumstances. In other words, we don’t really need a lot of exposition or setup to understand that this Inciting Incident will stir the pot.

This approach may not work with just any story.

Most stories will still need you to first set up the protagonist’s character before introducing the Inciting Incident, just because the impact of the Inciting Incident is specific to that particular character.

First we are fully immersed in the life and world of Truman Burbank in The Truman Show before the appearance of his father on the street will be seen as a major event.

We need to know the character – and flaw – of Stu Sheppard in Phonebooth before we fully get how important it is when some stranger seems to know all those secrets he has been carefully hiding.

Even in most of the seven examples above, between the foreshadowing near the opening of the movie and the actual Inciting Incident, the screenwriters make sure they build on the gravity of the I.I.’s impact:

– in Jaws, Chief Brody is relatively new in Amity so he may only have limited authority when he asks to close the beaches.
– in Touch of Evil we learn that Mr. and Mrs. Vargas are still honeymooning, so Mike is not really prepared to take on a case.
– in Omagh we see how close father and son Gallagher really are, before the son dies in the bomb attack.
– In The Untouchables, the domestic scene at the Ness home shows a dedicated father Eliot, so he is the right person to respond to the distraught mother later on.

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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When McKee talks about the conscious desire being a contradiction of the unconscious desire, would you relate this to the mid act 2 reversal / change in approach? Or would this be true from the very start of the story, script or life of the protagonist?

Answer:

Let’s start with quoting exactly what it is that McKee says:

“The PROTAGONIST may also have a self-contradictory unconscious desire(*).”

He goes on:

“Although these complex protagonists are unaware of their subconscious need, the audience senses it, perceiving in them an inner contradiction. The conscious and unconsious desires of a multidimensional protagonist contradict each other. What he believes he wants is the antithesis of what he actually but unwittingly wants.”

McKee makes a statement, then doesn’t really explain it. He doesn’t give an example either. But here is what I assume he means:

The conscious desire is what Michael Hauge calls the ‘visible goal, with a clearly defined end point’. In DIE HARD, John McClane wants to stop the gangsters and arrest them. In THE LIVES OF OTHERS, Wiesler wants to expose the theater director Dreyman. In JAWS, sheriff Brody wants to stop the shark from killing the people of Amity.

The subconscious desire is what John Truby calls the ‘need’, it is what the protagonist needs to become a more complete character, to overcome the flaw. This flaw often stops the protagonist from doing the right thing:

John McClane is a macho cop who can’t accept his wife to put her career first and Chief Brody can’t swim, so his fear of water keeps him initially from going out and kill the shark out on the sea. Wiesler wants to be a good man, but has only pursued this by following the stasi rule book.

Each of these have to overcome their flaw, before they can succeed in their outer objective: McClane makes a confession over the radio, Brody goes out on the open sea and Wiesler realises being a good man has nothing to do with justice fabricated by a totalitarian system. Sometimes this realisation happens at the mid-point, sometimes at the end of Act Two.

In each case, the inner need is in conflict with the outer ‘want’ from the start. Sometimes the mid-point causes the reversal, sometimes it is the Act Two turning point.

(*)From Robert McKee “STORY”, p.138

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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(Report by John Haly,
Thank you to Tony Chu)

Karel -a Belgian producer and script consultant – founded OZZYWOOD Films and The Story Department (which is a unique Australian blog and online resource for screen story theory). Karel headed production and programming at London’s Digital Broadcasting Company and was a film buyer for CANAL+, (Europe’s largest pay TV service). He was the host for a movie show for MTV Europe. His production credits included two short dramas, a documentary and a feature film. In post-production, he has a short animation and a feature film. As a script consultant, he has clients both in Australia and overseas. Of interest to Nafa members, he also runs regular workshops on script writing. A notable fact is that the 2007 nominees and also the winner of the Australian Writer Guild Monte Miller Award were Karel’s clients. Accordingly, if you are a script writer, you will, indeed, be well advised to pay particular attention to his views on ‘What our industry needs is a Story Revolution’.

Karel began by delving back into his personal history stating that he had started in Radio as a reporter who would phone in initial reviews of films for night radio – a far cry from the online internet reviewing of films of the contemporary culture. His first venture into a screenplay dates back to 1989, although he admits to abandoning that path because of early criticism by an established script writer. His next attempt was twelve years later, and he promptly lost the first draft.

In 2001, he moved to Australia where he co-produced a documentary and then a short film, but the last didn’t go anywhere. The next film was “Aerosol” which was dispatched to, and was selected by a few film festivals, but won no significant prizes. As a consequence, he then contemplated a change of direction and began studying and reading in an effort to get new insights as to the creative writing process.

The author at the top of his reading list was Robert McKee. McKee’s book, ‘Story’ is considered by some as the “screenwriters’ bible”. When purchasing the software for screen writing called ‘Power Structure’, he was offered at a reduced price a DVD called ‘The Hero’s 2 Journeys’ which was promoted as extremely enlightening material capable of educating writers and which revealed the template upon which the vast majority of successful stories and Hollywood blockbusters are based. Michael Hauge and Christopher Vogler’s DVD opened Karel’s eyes as it offered a unique insiders’ understanding of the ways screenplay structure, character, and theme must combine to be successful.

Karel became aware of the sad fact that there seemed to be little by the way of ‘Story Education’ available in Australia. Michael Hauge’s principles were applied in advising writers of script plays. With the aid of AFC funding, it became possible to produce a following accompanied by good results. He educated writers that the structure of writing was important, particularly from the perspective of Character. His insight centred on the question: Where does drama happen? He emphasises that it is not in the visualisation of the story, but the subtext beneath the story that good scriptwriting lies.

The fault to which many writers fall prey is that of visualising the scene as they are writing, thus thinking in terms of pictures. As it is a visual media up with which we end, we must keep in mind into what it is that a visual story latches in the minds of the audience – for example, that of ‘Desire’! The question that ought to be at the centre of your script should focus on the desires and objectives of your characters because film ‘hangs together’ with the emotions of “Desire”.

A frequent criticism of Australian films is that they have weak protagonists, (i.e. those without will power). If you give your protagonist a visible goal with a desire and will to get there, then you are more likely to engage your audience. The essence of Michael Hauge’s proposition is that you need a character who has a visible goal with a clearly defined end-point.

Karel recalled the Columbia University educator, Frank Daniel, who was noted for his development of the sequence paradigm of Screenwriting. Frank’s conception of a good protagonist was ‘somebody who wants something badly and has difficulty getting it.”

Karel turned to the audience to ask, ‘As a screen writer what is your primary goal?’ After a few financial and entertaining replies, someone suggested ‘to tell a story’. Karel then asked, ‘Why are you telling that story?’ Quoting Michael Hauge, his answer was two words, ‘elicit emotion’. In order to do this, there are three things with which a screen writer can play. 1. Character, 2. Desire, 3. Conflict.

The best way Karel can find to illustrate this is simply through the examples of successful films, which is what he uses when he runs his workshops. Irrespective of whether it is a Mainline or Arthouse movie, they all follow the same structure. The film ‘Die Hard’ deals with a man seeking to stop the criminals. ‘Jaws’ relates to a man’s desire to stop the Shark. Consider an Oscar winning Arthouse movie: “The Lives of Others’ where in the first half, the protagonist desires to expose the director while in the second half, he wishes to protect him.

As a screenwriter, you need to structure the desire. (Characters need structure in their desire). Your audience needs to know in the first act what that desire is. Your character also needs to resonate with the audience, exhibiting his or her human flaws. It is the flaw that holds the need of the protagonist. In ‘Die Hard, while desiring to stop the criminals, his flaw was that he was afraid to tackle the criminals who held his wife hostage. In the “The Lives of Others”, the protagonist changes his mind mid way. Audiences expect to perceive this desire, even if it is not spelled out.

As Aristotle distinguishes: a whole is that which has a beginning, a middle, and an end. In the beginning, the audience is introduced to the setting, the characters, their situation,/conflict and the goal they desire. In short, something happens, unexpectedly, which defines the story to come. To paraphrase Aristotle, ‘A beginning is that which does not itself follow anything by causal necessity, but after which something naturally is or comes to be’.

In ‘Die Hard’ the building is stopped while John McClane goes up to the highest floor to get a bird’s eye perspective and think through his options. He says to himself, ‘Think, think, think’. [KS: The exact same words are used by Woody in Toy Story 2 after Wheezy is taken away.] The initial plot point of confusion [KS: In the Hero’s Journey the ‘Mentor’ stage, ‘Refusing the Call’] shifts to the derivation of a plan and new plot point – an event followed by a reaction. Something happens, a plan evolves and the pursuit of activity begins and continues all the way to a resolution.

Karel advised that as a Script writer you should ask yourself, ‘What is the reason this story is being told?’. As for Karel himself, he was sitting here talking to us because he was strongly motivated by the desire to see a revolution in the way Australian Script writers create stories. He proclaimed, ‘Make sure there is a connection between yourself and the story you are telling. There is a requirement to want to connect to an audience.’

It is in the tribal ethos of ancient days that the storyteller tells stories relevant to their tribes. They are told not only to get the message across, but also to create such impact that the stories are repeatedly retold to subsequent generations of that tribe. It is important whether you be scriptwriters or producers or directors, that you choose the scripts that can best tell the story.

Be aware that the contemporary tribe of humanity is being conditioned by the way a story is being told in film and theatre. Be conscious of writing structure as it is entering an arena, a tribe, a society that is accustomed to perceive in a specific manner. Don’t be dismissive of the formula for telling the story in film just because you want to be ‘different’, or because your audience has been conditionally seasoned, even if they are not consciously aware of being told a story with a definite style.

Karel moved on to seek to discredit a few commonly held myths. The first one is that writers should rush out and buy specific Screen Writing Software such as ‘Final Draft’. In the first place, there are plenty of free alternatives out there for Microsoft word templates, [KS: Celtx] etc. Primarily, it initially tempts you to write in scenes, when it is the story you first need to relate. Reading scripts to get the format right as a pre-requisite encourages the visualisation of scenes when first, you should be concentrating on the story. Try watching a movie, break it down and decode it yourself rather than reading or writing a script (story first, script last).

The next myth concerns language. Some writers love flowery prose. Question yourself as to whether your objective is to write something that only reads well, or do you wish to write a story of substance? Identify: where is the story? Do you have a character with a desire? Where is the conflict in the story? This, as your primary guideline becomes the focus of the storyline.

The next myth concerns Log Lines. (A Log Line is a brief summary of the film, often providing both a synopsis of the program’s plot, and an emotional “hook” to stimulate interest). Karel confessed for a long time that he believed that the Log Line was the last thing you wrote after the script and synopsis. He is now firmly convinced the opposite is true.

If you want to know more about the importance of Log Lines go to ‘The Unknown Screen Writer’ and ‘Mystery Man on Film‘. These will help you to use correctly the Log Lines – a procedure the importance of which cannot be overestimated. These are the selling lines of your film which you must know before you start writing. Formulate a Log Line of: who is your character? What does the character want?- and- What is the obstacle(s) in his way? Try to compose your log line by writing it down as soon as possible as this keeps you in focus. That great idea that pops into your head during the writing! Does it fit into your Log Line? If not, put it aside because it has no place in your story. Keep it for your next script.

Karel then suggested that the biggest mistake people make in the attempt to sell their scripts is to dispatch them too early. Sending and then resending draft versions is the quickest way to ensure that the people reading the dispatched articles lose interest. By resending a newer, updated version of the script, you are admitting to the producer or director that you sent them a previous script that you well knew wasn’t ready.

Following on from that theme, Karel pointed out that formatting the script is not important until you have the story written. As Art Arthur said: ‘Don’t get it right, get it written!’ Once it is written in the final draft, THEN there are formatting rules to which you need to comply. It is then that those slug lines, script punctation and the absence of typos needs to be scrupulously addressed.

Karel noted that studies of the Australian Government Feature Film Funding have shown that only about 19 out of some 419 films actually made money. He impressively expressed the point that our essential requirement was to think about the market. Again, he reiterated the need for writers to understand and act on the principles espoused in “The Hero’s Journey”.

Despite the perception that both Germans and Australians possess an inherent hero phobia, explore the successful films in our own industry, and that, in itself, will disabuse any such notion.

At this point, Jeanie opened the floor to questions. These included ones concerning the cultural differences between countries when it came to making films. This, in turn, raised the topic of our anxiety of being commercially successful. Questions about breaking the rules for film structure returned a reply of: ‘how about mastering the ‘Rules‘ first BEFORE contemplating breaking them- not the other way around.

Tony concluded the evening by thanking Karel for his contribution. Karel spoke privately to people as they approached him and eventually the evening broke up, as actors, producers and director’s networks chatted on before being kindly ejected by the Bar Staff wishing to close. Some of us spilled out onto the sidewalks to continue our conversations till the passing night drew us to the consideration that we should be homeward bound.

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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“Australia and Germany are two cultures that seem slightly herophobic.”
–Christopher Vogler

The National Screenwriters Conference is over and I didn’t attend. But thanks to ScreenHub I know I missed an interesting discussion between AFC script guru Karin Altmann and Clubland scribe Keith Thompson.

I recommend reading the whole article, (as a matter of fact I recommend getting a subscription to ScreenHub and reading the full coverage from the conference) but here is the quote that set me off on my journey today:

Keith is wary of scripting how-to books, believing that they hold the potential for all movies to end up looking the same. Similarly, an overt focus on structure may be to the detriment of the script overall. He prefers to discuss scripts using more generic terms such as beginning, middle and end. The hero’s journey (a la Campbell and Vogler) should be approached warily.

Keep this in mind and let’s go back to that quote above this post.

Australia and Germany are two cultures that seem slightly herophobic.

Vogler must have good reasons for such a statement. In the case of Germany I accept the statement without further ado. Didn’t their last hero get them in a bit of a pickle?

But on what basis would he put Australians and Germans in the same context?

The Australians distrust appeals to heroic virtue because such concepts have been used to lure generations of young Australian males into fighting Britain’s battles. Australians have their heroes, of course, but they tend to be unassuming and self-effacing, and will remain reluctant for much longer than heroes in other cultures.[…]

That doesn’t mean we don’t have heroes at all:

The most admirable hero is one who denies his heroic role as long as possible and who, like Mad Max, avoids accepting responsibility for anyone but himself.

Now that last definition sounds like familiar Hollywood territory to me and it can be applied just as much to Maximus in Gladiator and John McClane in Die Hard as to Spider-Man, who needs to be constantly reminded of his responsibility as super-hero.

We all know that the movies Australians like are not very different from the rest of the world, as prove the numbers.

Obviously the situation is very different when we look at the type of films we are making. Suddenly Chris Vogler’s words are getting a different meaning.

Have a look here: Australian Films at the Box Office

What does this teach us? If anybody is herophobic, it is the Australian screenwriter, not the cinema goer.

Ironic how I was going to make a very different point about the Hero’s Journey but via a little detour I have come to the same conclusion:

If Australian filmmakers want to re-connect with the Australian audience – or any audience for that matter – they better stop refusing the call of the Hero’s Journey.

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 had ordered 2:37 from Quickflix, as reference material for a feature film in post-production I am currently working on in the capacity of co-producer and story consultant. Because of some friends’ recommendations, I was really looking forward to watching young Thalluri’s directorial debut. Imagine my joy when less than forty-eight hours after putting it on my wishlist, the DVD tumbled in the letter box!

Thalluri is obviously infatuated with Gus Van Sant and more specifically ELEPHANT, of which 2:37 is a blatant pastiche. The school, the parallel points of view, the moody light, the school massacre reference, etc. How much more derivative can you be without breaking the law?

But all this could have been forgiven. Other great directors have copied shamelessly, to create something better or at least equally entertaining. I hate to admit but this umpteenth Australian case of the emperor’s new clothes is boring as hell. The best five minutes are the opening scene and this is indeed great cinema: a promising naturalistic build-up of suspense, leading to the discovery of a student’s suicide.

The dead body is not shown in the opening scene and most if not all of the movie’s anticipation (or lack thereof) hinges on that single question: “Who died?” For most of the 98mins running time, the filmmakers are trying to outsmart the audience, ultimately delivering a twist nobody could have possibly seen coming. It may work in novels but it doesn’t in movies, as evidenced by that obscenely successful whodunit whose screen adaptation embarrassed even the die hard fans: THE DA VINCI CODE. Too bad 2:37 didn’t have the same marketing pull to defy any story sense and make hundreds of millions nonetheless.

ANOTHER ELEPHANT: LACK OF DRAMA

The mystery around the identity of the suicide victim in 2:37 is equivalent to that bad whodunit in which a totally uninteresting character we have hardly seen, suddenly shows up with motive and weapon. Even when a whodunit is done well, it often lacks suspense. On this subject Hitchcock once said:

“Mystery is seldom suspenseful. In a whodunit, for instance, there is no suspense, but a sort of intellectual puzzle. The whodunit generates the kind of curiosity that is void of emotion, and emotion is an essential ingredient of suspense.”

That said, 2:37 might still have worked, if only the screenwriter had made the least effort to entertain or excite us along the way. Instead we are witnessing a never-ending tirade of profanities and artful but empty cinematography. Unfortunately I wasn’t impressed either by the performances of the army of young and gorgeous actors. But you can’t blame them, with this poor material.

The film does make various attempts to convey emotion but most of those lack drama. When the main characters talk about themselves and their youthful angst, the effect is theatrical, not cinematic. And until we know and understand the circumstances of these confessions, we will not fully invest emotionally in their content. That is why the ‘talking heads’ in this film don’t work, no matter how desperately the actors try to convince us.

Bottom line: there are some basic screenwriting rules you break at your own risk such as: “you must not deceive the audience.” I suspect Thalluri was considered an auteur and a prodigy, who de facto transcends the principles of storytelling. Here’s my two cents: beginning writers should not try and outsmart their peers, let alone the audience.

WE DON’T GIVE A SHEET

Mysteriously despite all the above, the film was selected for the 2006 Cannes Film Festival where it received a 17 mins standing ovation, effectively paving the way for a successful theatrical release. Or so you would expect. Banking on the festival response, quick international sales were achieved reportedly bringing in three times the film’s production cost.

The reality of the film’s performance at the box office was sobering: at home it hardly grossed $500k. Of course some sources blame the distributor’s bad release campaign. Or the exhibitor’s marginal programming. And finally the audience, for not wanting to open up to the film.

And tomorrow me, for not supporting Australian cinema.

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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What I had read was a great short novel. Brilliant prose, lively detail and sharp dialogue. But the story didn’t work because we would not care for the protagonist. This is a typical mistake: confusing a good script with a good story. Beware of the ‘good read’. Or as my best friend Chris always says: “Armaggedon was a good read too.” In the case of this Australian hopeful, the story was told from a protagonist without any clear objective. Ironically, a character close to the protagonist would have much better fitted that role without the need to significantly change the premise.

The joy of the ‘good read’ is truly a danger and one of many reasons why you don’t rely on friends for script feedback, even if they work in the film industry. I have heard of aspiring screenwriters asking advice from assistant directors, decorators production managers. Although like everybody in our industry, these people SHOULD have a notion, in reality they hardly ever do. (As a matter of fact, a lot of decision-makers don’t have a clue either.I could give you a recent example of a script where even the writer admitted ‘there was no story’. Still he got the money to develop it. Develop what? The novel? I won’t name the example or I would be dead. Fact is that the writer in question ironises about this reality when he says that

“to get your hands on delicious development money you don’t have to have a great script, it only has to be a little ‘better’ than the norm. And if you can do that with no story…good times.”

THE WISE AND THE NOT SO WISE

As somebody who takes the craft very seriously, I’m sometimes frustrated to see how people who should know better send out confusing messages. Now take this quote, which I found on a web site claiming to give story advice and tips to writers:

“As for the content of your screenplay; structure counts, usually. Have a clear Act I, II, and III. Try to hook the reader on the first page! Make the first five (or ten pages at most) be Act I, wherein you introduce all the main characters and show the reader the who, what, where, when and why of your story. Notice that I said SHOW. Telling is not so good. Film is a visual medium and you should actually be writing a FILM, not a script. Act II is the rest of the story, where you build on what you started, and it climaxes at the clear end of Act II. Act III should be five or ten (max) pages, where all loose ends are tied up and all conflicts are resolved.”

I must admit I had never heard of the Ten Minutes First Act. And the second act being “where you build on what you started“. How can you be more vague? You know what is REALLY frightening? The person talking is the director of an internationally renowned film festival. And as for: “structure counts, usually”… The festival director is probably hoping of getting the new KOYAANISQATSI.

Let me counterbalance the nonsense with a solid quote from Chris Vogler, the man behind The Writer’s Journey. This time not about the ‘big structure’ or the Journey Stages but about scenes:

“A scene is a business deal. It may not involve money but it will always involve some change in the contract between characters or in the balance of power. It’s a transaction, in which two or more people enter with one kind of deal between them, and negotiate or battle until a new deal has been cut, at which point the scene should end. It could be the reversal of a power structure. The underdog seizes power by blackmail. Or it could be the forging of a new alliance or enmity. Two people who hated each other make a new deal to work together in a threatening situation. A boy asks a girl out and she accepts or rejects his offer. Two gangsters make an alliance to rub out a rival. A mob forces a sheriff to turn a man over for lynching. The meat of the scene is the negotiation to arrive at the new deal, and when the deal is cut, the scene is over, period. “

THE POWER OF A PARADIGM SHIFT

Years ago a good friend returned from L.A. where he had attended a much hyped screenwriting seminar. The speaker made a point by asking the room who would visualise the scenes while writing. I agreed with my friend’s astonishment when he reported that only half of the writers raised their hands. What were the others thinking? What idiots to believe you can actually write movies without thinking visually???

I have come to fundamentally change my view on this. Did Alan Ball necessarily think visually when he wrote SIX FEET UNDER? Or AMERICAN BEAUTY? The last boasts wonderfully visual scenes but most of the script’s power lies entirely not on its visual level. We do indeed need visible elements to show character subtext, but not necessarily a visual context. Think about CRASH or more recently THE LIVES OF OTHERS. On what level do these movies make an impact?

Whether a movie works or not, is decided on an entirely different, almost abstract and non-visual level. Until a late draft, a screenwriter doesn’t always need to visualise. And you can take this right through to very visual action flicks such as DIE HARD, THE FUGITIVE or even SPIDER-MAN. Visual elements such as setting, time of day, camera angles etc. could have been easily replaced without really changing the story. They might have even worked without the eye candy but they surely wouldn’t have without the character drama underneath.

Recently I was recommended THE SEVEN HABITS OF HIGHLY SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE. Early in the book Stephen Covey speaks about the Paradigm Shift. (Beware: this Paradigm has nothing to do with Syd Field.) It’s about looking at something from a specific angle and (not) seeing what others see. I found this concept very similar to reading text vs. reading subtext. I had been reading screenplays on the surface for years before it most literally ‘clicked’ in my head; it felt as if a ‘sixth sense’ had switched on, as if I was suddenly reading with an infrared eye.

Switching on the understanding of this subtextual level is a skill writers, just like producers or directors, need to develop before they can become successful. It is just as essential as switching on your desk light at night to read.

THE LOGLINE

“A logline is a one-sentence summary of your script. It’s the short blurb in TV guides that tells you what a movie is about and helps you decide if you’re interested in seeing it. It’s the grabber that excites your interest.” (-Scriptologis.Com)

.

The logline shouldn’t be confused with the tagline (marketing one-liner for the poster) or even slugline (“EXT. KAREL’S OFFICE – DAY”).

Once I believed you can only write your story’s logline when you have finished your script and even the one page synopsis. Until then, it may not even be clear what the story is about.

Here are a few good reasons why you should start thinking of the logline earlier. First of all: a good logline is a good indication that you have a story. If after a few drafts you still can’t find a logline that captures what your movie is about, you really need to think hard about the story again. Secondly: it will become an essential selling tool for your script. A strong logline will give you the confidence that you have a story: you’ll be able to pitch it with passion! In both senses the logline does pretty much what I promote about the synopsis in my consultancy services: it helps you improve AND sell the story. All that with the economy of one simple sentence.

I am currently working as a consultant on an amazing high concept story with some major story issues. It is always nerve-wrecking having to break the news that to unleash its potential, a story needs to be significantly reworked. But when I found out the writer had already written a logline expressing exactly what I believed the story should deliver, I sighed: we were on the same wavelength.

The moment you find a logline expressing your intentions, you have found an invaluable tool to stay on track. It could be the road map saving you from disaster. If the logline is selling and you stay true to it during the writing of the draft, chances are you will have a selling story.

THE $5 SCRIPT SOFTWARE: ASHAMPOO’S TEXTMAKER:

I recently had a computer scare when it looked my four year old laptop was about to die. That would have been a disaster in a few ways, not the least because I recently bought a – legitimate – OEM version of Office Standard. I lose my laptop, I lose that.

No wonder I was interested when recently I received an offer to an elegant software program called ‘Textmaker’, which does everything I use MS Word for. Only for $4.99 only. And legitimate. If you are looking for a good quality text processor, which is BTW faster than MS Word and whose license won’t expire if your computer dies, have a look here:

https://www.ashampoo.com

I believe the offers on these newsletters remain open for at least 1 purchase per customer.

BEATS VS. TURNING POINTS

While working on a step outline with one of my clients, it bothered me a number of scenes ended in the exact same way: the protagonist would respond to a situation by rejection or reluctance to respond.

None of these scenes really ended in a plot point, there was no hook nor change to the story’s direction. So I didn’t find the scenes’ ending strong enough and almost suggested to cut them altogether. Still, the point the writer was trying to make about the protagonist was a valid one: it gave us important information we would need later in the story.

The solution we came up with: keep the protagonist’s reaction as a scene beat but work towards a stronger scene ending by creating a new plot point for each in order to turn the scene, create anticipation and propel it into the next one. Not an easy task but ultimately better than cutting.

THE QUIZ

As part of a Google Adwords campaign I’ve created a quiz about the craft and – to a lesser extent – history of screenwriting. If one or two questions are a matter of opinion rather than fact, you will find the answers in The Story Dept. Twenty challenges, definitely not for beginners (and neither is this blog, apparently) but essential knowledge for whomever is serious about the craft. Anyway, if you consider yourself an expert, or at least intermediate level writer, you shouldn’t be intimidated. Click through until the very end of the quiz and you’ll land back on the OZZYWOOD web site after seeing all the right answers. Have fun!

https://ozzywood.com/quiz

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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