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    TV & Film

    Write Your Screenplay Podcast

    Rather than rating movies and TV shows like a critic, “two thumbs up” or “two thumbs down,” WGA Award Winning screenwriter Jacob Krueger breaks down scripts without judgment (from scripts you loved, to scripts you hated) to show you what you can learn from them as screenwriters. Plus meet special guests, and get answers to your most pressing screenwriting questions! WriteYourScreenplay.com

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    Latest Episodes:
    Annabelle: Creation & the First Ten Pages of Your Script Sep 15, 2017
    Show notes

    Annabelle: Creation & The First 10 Pages of Your Script By Jacob Krueger This week we’re going to be discussing Annabelle: Creation, directed by David F. Sandberg and written by Gary Dauberman. Normally, since this is a screenwriting podcast, I don’t talk a lot about directors. But this is a case of a good director taking a struggling script, and turning into something far better than what exists on the page. I’m not saying Annabelle: Creation is a fully successful film. The truth is it’s a pretty cheesy horror movie, full of holes, gaps in logic, violations of its own rules, crappy dialogue… But it’s also a movie whose director understands the demands of its genre, and capitalizes on that understanding to turn a script that could have been a total flop into a finished product that not only squeaked to a 68% approval ratings on Rotten Tomatoes, but also has generated over $280 million at the box office for a reported budget of $15 million. Not a bad return on investment for the producers. Now the truth is, Annabelle: Creation is a prequel to an extremely strong horror franchise, The Conjuring, with a dedicated fan base and a loyal following among critics and moviegoers alike. And the connection to that franchise, and the very strong script, The Conjuring, that launched it, certainly has a lot to do with its success. So if you’re a new writer, please don’t take Annabelle: Creation’s success in spite of its problems as a suggestion that all you have to do is hit your marks with your genre elements to succeed as a writer. For you to get noticed and get your script made and have that kind of success in this challenging business, the truth is you have to write better than the professionals. Because you neither have the connections in the industry, the track record on your resume, nor the fan base out there in your audience for producers to see the dollar signs unless your script knocks it out of the park. Nevertheless, studying Annabelle: Creation is not a bad return on investment for you as a writer. Because while you will certainly be frustrated by the way Annabelle: Creation fails to live up to what should be a very strong premise, you can also learn a ton about rewriting from the film. That starts with understanding the tools David F. Sandberg used to transform a weak script into a genre success. It means understanding the power of genre, and how to use it to your advantage, regardless of whether you’re writing a horror movie, action movie, romantic comedy, web series, or even a little indie drama. And it also means understanding how the writer, Gary Dauberman, fell into the most common trap in screenwriting and lost track of his own premise. So that you’ll know what to do if the same problem starts to happen to you. And it all comes back to one simple premise. Screenwriting Rule #1: You’ve got to nail the first 10 pages of your script! The first 10 pages in your script are the most important 10 pages in your script. And the first page of your script is the most important page of your script. Not your brilliant trick ending. Not that fabulous turn halfway through the movie. Not that moment that makes you laugh or cry or hurl on page 72. The first page. The first 10 pages. And why are these first pages the most important pages? For 3 very important reasons. #1 - The first 10 pages of your script are the only pages everyone is going to read! By the time your producer, coverage reader, A-list actor, director, manager, agent… hell even your great great great uncle who you’re begging to invest… reads the first page of your script, they are already making a decision about whether this script is actually worth reading. You either grab them, or you don’t. And by the time they get to page 10, if they even get that far, they’ve already made a decision about whether this script is actually for them-- if they’re going to read it, or skim it, or if they’re simply going to pass. That means that if you don’t hook them from the very first page, they’re never going to get to your fabulous trick ending, your tear jerking climax, your horror inducing end of act one. So that’s the commercial reason for nailing the first 10 pages. And you can see that, whatever the flaws that show up later in the script, the first 10 pages of Annabelle: Creation certainly don’t suffer from them. What we’re watching from that very first image is really cool! You start out on this creepy doll’s eye, this creepy eye, that’s being assembled into this creepy doll in this creepy workshop, and you are just seeing the eye-- you are just following the eye everywhere. And the creepy doll into whom the eye is placed belongs to this father who makes these creepy dolls. And he has a daughter that he loves and a wife that he loves. And they have a cool little complicated family in a creepy little house. And, slight spoiler ahead…. You are 10 minutes into the movie and that little girl gets hit by a car. And at that moment, you are already fully drawn in. You are already pitching yourself a movie. And it’s a horror movie, but it’s a particularly classy version of that movie that you’re pitching yourself-- the story of parents whose desire to hold on to their lost child turns something beautiful into horror. And you see, that should be frickin awesome. And whether you’re a horror movie genre fan or not, there’s something real in there you can grab onto, something beautiful and terrifying from the very first page, that captures not only what is important and beautiful and scary about this movie, but also how the story is going to work, both structurally and thematically. It’s a story about creation and horror. About the creation of a doll and creation of a child and creation of a family. And what happens when the creations that we love start to fall apart and twist us into darkness. It’s the story of Annabelle: Creation. And they’ve fulfilled the promise of their title, and captured the physical and emotional attention of their reader-- and we’re only 10 minutes in! So that’s the commercial reason. If you want your script to sell, your first 10 pages have got to grab us like the first 10 pages of Annabelle: Creation. They’ve got to be the ten best pages in your script. But there is also an artistic reason. #2 - The first 10 pages of your script create the window through which your audience experiences everything that follows. Audiences come to movies for genre experiences. Which is really just a fancy way of saying that they come to a movie because they want to be given a very specific feeling. If they’re coming to a romantic comedy, they want to feel like love is possible. If they’re coming to an indie drama, they want to experience catharsis through the twists and turns of your main character’s emotional journey. If they’re coming to a broad comedy, they want to laugh their asses off. If they’re coming to an action movie, they want to get their adrenaline pumping. If they’re coming to an experimental art film, they want to feel their minds bended. And if they’re coming to a high class horror movie, like Annabelle: Creation, they want to be terrified. Not just at the jump scare level, but at the emotional and psychological level. In other words, they’re coming to movies for the same reason you’re coming. In fact, many filmmakers and screenwriters become famous and successful for their ability to create a certain genre experience in their writing-- think about Nora Ephron or Charlie Kaufman or Martin Scorsese, or Aaron Sorkin, or Christopher Nolan, or my guest on next week’s podcast, Mark Bomback (the writer of the Planet of the Apes franchise). If you give your audience the feeling they are coming for in your first ten pages, you can get away with a lot. Because even if the stuff that comes later doesn’t fit perfectly with the genre, or even puts pressure on the genre (like the comic character of Bad Ape does in War For Planet of the Apes, or the comic grave diggers do in Hamlet) the audience will still see everything that follows through that original genre lens. They will interpret what they see through the window of the genre. They will enjoy things that they otherwise would never enjoy. And they will know they are going to get back to the stuff they came for. That the movie is for them. If you actually look at the structure of Annabelle: Creation, until all hell breaks loose and the requisite blood starts flowing, not a hell of a lot happens from a horror genre perspective. It’s really mostly just creaking doors and a creepy looking doll that keeps showing up and a really damn good director and score. And it doesn’t even make any sense why this doll keeps showing up or even how this doll works or like what the hell does the doll really do? I still don’t even fricking know-- But because of the way the doll is introduced in those first 10 minutes-- because of the image of that eye, and the feeling of being watched, and the love that is built between father and daughter, the knowledge that death is coming, that in this horror movie, even a little girl can die a sudden and horrible death-- that experience inflicts everything that we’re watching with a feeling of horror. David F. Sandberg uses the window of that first 10 pages to such great effect in his direction, mirroring the elements that he’s created early in such creepy and terrifying ways, that he doesn’t even need a jump scare or much blood at all to create the feeling of horror. All he needs is that fricking doll. And even though you’re thinking to yourself “I shouldn’t be scared” and even you are kind of annoyed with yourself that you are, because you know this is cheesy. You have to admit. It’s scary. And it’s not scary because of what’s happening. It’s scary because of the way the events of the first 10 pages inflect what yo


    How To Write A Web Series Sep 08, 2017
    Show notes

    How To Write A Web Series By Jacob Krueger Jake: This week we are on with Karin Partin, and we are going to be talking about Web Series, which is something I haven't talked about yet on the podcast. Karin teaches our Web Series Writing Classes here at Jacob Krueger Studio and has a lot to say about Web Series writing and producing. We’re going to be looking at Web Series from a creative point of view, and also talking about how you can use a Web Series and very little money to actually launch your career and get noticed-- how a Web Series can become not only a calling card, but actually something that brings you money or something that builds your career. So, Karin thank you so much for joining us. Karin: Yeah, Hi! Thank you for having me. This is exciting to be sitting in on the podcast. I know so many of my students are just huge fans of the podcast and listening to the podcast, so it’s very exciting to be on the podcast. Jake: When you think about Web Series writing, why do a Web Series? Why start with a Web Series? Karin: You want to make a Web Series to break into the industry. If you write a script, you can pitch that script to managers and agents for six months or a year. And then, you get that one yes or five yeses and all five of those managers and producers and agents are putting that script on their desk, and may take six more months to read that script. Once they love your script, let’s say of course you have the perfect script ever, it is the best script ever anyone has ever written and they love it, then it is going to take those people championing for you to get it made. And it can take a very long time and the chances of its momentum falling off is high. That is why it takes a thousand no’s and one yes to break into this industry. So if you make your own Web Series, you can send it to anyone you’ve ever met in the industry, and all of a sudden your chances just skyrocket of someone actually seeing your writing because it got made. You can just send it out and say “hey, here is my five minutes”. And the chances are much higher that they are going to see your work. And you can do it! You can make it affordable. You can make your Web Series affordable. That is the whole point: getting your work out there. it is a very short form content that lets you highlight your skills. So, if you can pull off character development and an A to B of storytelling so your character goes from point A to point B, they change in a very, very short amount of time. So, if you can change your characters in five minutes or less, people are going to be impressed. So it is a way to impress managers and agents and producers that you can do short form of storytelling, and that translates to long form storytelling very easy. If you can pull off a Web Series they will believe that you can write anything, because it is the most difficult thing to do: to tell a well-crafted, beautiful, impeccable story in five minutes or less. Jake: So, you feel it is a way of demonstrating a higher level of craft or a level of compression? Karin: Yes, making a Web Series that costs very little money with minimal characters in very few locations is constraint. And so, you want to be able to let these constraints work for you as a writer. And with all those constraints on your back as a writer, and you still pull off great storytelling, people are going to be excited about your writing. It used to be it cost you $50,000 to make a television pilot. Now, you can get a camera, you can shoot it with your iPhone and spend $500 or $50 if you have actor friends and you know somebody willing to cook for you for the day or the weekend. Then you can make your own Web Series. Jake: The other really beautiful thing about being a Web Series writer is that you are your own producer. So you don’t have the limitations of someone telling you, “hey I don’t really like this character,” or “I don’t like the way this character is going.” You can push the envelope and you can write whatever you want. As everyone knows, when you are a writer, you have 50 people that give you notes. You have your producers, and you have the other producers and you have financial people and the actors come in and they give you notes. If you are the Web Series writer, you are going to be able to just make it yourself. So you have a better chance that your vision is going to get down and out to the world exactly as you thought. Jake: One of the other things that I think is exciting about Web Series Writing is that the way media is consumed is changing. Web Series is so darn clickable, you can send them an email and have it clicked in a link and they can decide if they like it or not. Would you say that is a benefit? And how are executives and agents and managers responding to Web Series now? Karin: Oh they are excited about it; everyone I talk to says, “please send me your work, please send me the actual work you’ve made.” It is really, getting much, much harder to get noticed as an unproduced writer because there are so many people making things already. So, how do we break in as people who are unknown? Well, you make your own work and you send it out and you show who you are, you show that your voice is special by making it. Clickable content. I mean, would you rather read a 30 page script to a 90 page script or would you rather watch just a five minute film? If you can send someone your story and it takes them five minutes to watch and you blow them away, you are going to get a phone call. Jake: Do you think that there is a prime length that Web Series writers should be targeting? Is it three minutes, is it five minutes, is it ten minutes, is it half an hour? Where should they be focusing? Karin: I would go shorter the better. The shorter it is the more likely someone is going to watch it. If you send a 60 minute digital pilot, if you can get them to watch it, amazing, great. But if you can send them a five minute one, they are going to click on it. And if you hook them in the first minute with characters, they are going to watch the other five minutes, which then you can continue and make episodes 2-8 or 2-12 and they are going to watch the additional episodes. I don’t know if it really matters whether it is five minutes or twelve minutes. Web Series are all over the place. But it is really about how fast can you tell a story and still keep character development? That is the real key in the craft of writing: can you tell a short story and keep character development? So, if you think of something like True Detective, you know how much time they have to develop those characters. Can you do that in a short amount of time? That is what people are looking for. So, if you look at one of the very first Web Series, The Guild and it is one episode now you can watch it-- Netflix took the entire first season and made it the first episode. So, if you want to know how it was originally broken down you want to watch the episodes on YouTube, because those are actually broken down as the original five minute episodes. And in The Guild, the very first episode is all about character; it is a vignette of who these people are. You’ve got the main character who is talking to her therapist on the phone about how she doesn’t play too much of this video game that she is addicted to. And while she is talking to her therapist, she is on the phone playing the game, also crossing out on a posted note how many hours she has played that week and just it is getting higher and higher and higher in how many hours she played. So her dominant trait is represented by the action of talking to her therapist about how she is going to quit playing while playing. And the other people are also very quick vignettes, you’ve got one who is the dad, you’ve got one who is a teenage boy and he is totally in love with women and he is talking about boobs. You’ve got a mom who plays so much she is ignoring her children, and then you’ve got another character who is missing and he has never not been online in this long. You have a group of people who are kind of like a family who are always on this game and you have one who is missing and they are worried about him. So, it is an online group of people who’ve never met and at the end of the episode the guy who is missing shows up at her house-- the main character’s house-- to tell her he loves her and so it goes from a group of people who’ve never met to real life. And that is your A to B in a very short amount of time, while doing character. And that is the goal for any kind of storytelling, whether it is Web Series or TV or features or you know everything, podcast, everything storytelling. So, if you can pull that off, you are gold. People will notice that you can write. That is the point of writing: can you show them you can write in something that is short enough that you can get them to watch? Jake: So what if you are an emerging writer, and you’ve never done any production before? For a lot of writers that is scary-- the thought of, “Oh my god I am going to have to do this myself!” So, how do you start? If one of my students says, “Okay today I want to write a Web Series. I’ve been writing feature films, or I’ve been writing TV Series, maybe I’ve been in one of The Writer’s Room Classes at the studio, I’ve learned how to work in a writer’s room.” When you think about, “Now I am going to make something that I can create myself,” how is that different, or how is that attainable? How do you boil that down for someone who has no production experience into something that they feel like they can do right now? Karin: To create a Web Series that is attainable and that is affordable, you need minimal actors and one or two locations. And it is harder than it sounds to come up with a story that is very contained and affordable to wri


    The Big Sick: How to Adapt a True Life Story Aug 24, 2017
    Show notes

    The Big Sick: How To Adapt a True Life Story By Jacob Krueger This week we are going to be talking about The Big Sick by Emily V. Gordon and Kumail Nanjiani. I am excited to talk about The Big Sick not just because it was a successful film, but also because it allows me to talk about a topic that I have wanted to discuss for some time: How to adapt a story from your life. There is a wonderful scene in The Big Sick, one of the scenes that actually doesn’t get talked a lot. Kumail (for those of you who haven't seen the film) is a Pakistani-American Uber driver who has fallen in love with a white American girl. And in one of the really lovely scenes in their romance, he invites her to this terrible play that he has created about Pakistan. It is meant to be a one man show but it comes out more like an extremely detailed and dry history of Pakistan. The scene has a lot of wonderful little jokes for the audience. But the joke for the character is that Emily shows up for her boyfriend’s show and it is the worst thing ever, and everybody knows it is the worst thing ever, and now she has to pretend that it is good. If you are an artist and you have artist friends, you know what that experience is like. You know that there is often a desire, when that happens, to protect the person whose work we have gone to see: to tell them things are good that aren’t good, to protect their ego rather than their art. Emily, in the film, does actually a much more loving thing, actually a much more brave thing. She doesn’t trash the play, but she does tells Kumail the truth. She says, “I learned a lot about Pakistan, but I didn’t learn a lot about you.” And this sets up a beautiful structure in the The Big Sick, which is really a story about Kumail learning what it is to tell the truth. In fact, in a way, it is a story about all these characters learning to tell the truth. Emily’s father, Terry, played by Ray Romano also has to learn how to tell the truth, how to not be a coward. What makes Emily’s mother, Beth, played by Holly Hunter, so wonderful is that she always tells the truth-- even if it means that she is going to attack a racist heckler in the middle of a performance. So all these characters are eventually going to go on a journey about telling the truth. And the biggest journey about telling the truth is Kumail’s journey. Kumail is a character who is afraid to tell the truth. Kumail is a person who is trying to please everybody in his life. And because he needs so badly to please, he isn't saying what is real. He has convinced his parents that he is going to accept an arranged marriage with a Pakistani woman, even though he isn't taking any of his potential dates seriously. He has convinced Emily that they are in a relationship, even though he doesn’t believe he is ever going to marry her because he is afraid of being disowned by his parents. And as an artist he isn't yet able to tell the truth with his writing. Ultimately, he is going to go on a journey in relation to his one man show, in which he learns to tell the truth about himself. And in that way earns his happy ending; he earns his happy ending by telling the truth. When we are adapting a true life story, our job, like Kumail’s job, is to tell the truth. And oftentimes we have a lot of different urges pulling against us. What is interesting is that Kumail and Emily’s story is based on a true story-- is based on their true story-- the true story of how they fell in love, how she fell into a coma and how, during the time that she was in that coma, he realized that he wanted to marry her no matter what his parents thought. So this is a movie based on a really beautiful true story. And like most true stories, at first glance we might think that it isn't enough to be a movie-- which is how a lot of us feel when we first write a true story. I remember the first class that I was hired to teach-- before I created the Studio. The dean of the school (which will go unnamed), who is a very lovely man, during our orientation sat me down and said, “Okay, look Jake, you do whatever you want. We don’t really have a curriculum. The only thing is: don’t let them tell true life stories, because you know it is just going to suck.” And I remember asking him, “What makes you think it is going to suck?” And he said, “Well there won’t be enough for a movie there.” And a few weeks later he came into my class and he saw the work that was happening, and he said, “How did you teach these people to do that?” And I said, “I didn’t teach them to do that, I allowed them to do that. I allowed them to tell the truth, I allowed them to tell the stories of their lives.” Because the truth is that every movie you write, whether it is fiction or non-fiction, whether it really happened in the real world or whether it only happened at the world of your mind, every movie you write is an adaptation of a true story. It is an adaptation of your true story. There is a common piece of wisdom that you are supposed to “write what you know.” And I think this is actually a very confusing piece of wisdom, even though it is quite wise. The reason that it is a confusing piece of wisdom is that, oftentimes, we feel like “writing what you know” is very limiting. We start to get nervous: “What if I didn’t live a really interesting life? What if I grew up in the suburbs with a nice family? What if my story isn't valid enough?” “And what if I want to write a fantasy or a Sci-Fi or a horror movie? What if I want to write a movie that isn't based on real life things? How am I supposed to write what I know if I want to write in one of these genres?” “Or a Western! I have never lived in a Western, how am I supposed to tell that story?” But the truth is that every story is an adaptation of a true life story; it is an adaptation of your true life story. If we look at a movie like The Lord of the Rings, which was based in a book by J.R.R. Tolkien (which is actually even stronger than the movies)-- I think we can all agree that J.R. R. Tolkien never saw a hobbit, never fought a dragon, never saw an ogre, never confronted The Dark Lord Sauron or had to throw a ring into a magical burning river. I think we can all agree that the world of Middle-earth wasn’t a world that he knew. But the world of Middle-earth and the war between good and evil in Middle-earth isn't really what The Lord of the Rings is about. The Lord of the Rings is about a guy who is addicted to a ring. You lose this in the movie, but it is very clear in the book. Frodo, as he gets closer to destroying the ring, wants to put the ring on his finger. There is an incredible draw to put the ring on his finger. He wants to put the ring on his finger even though he knows it draws the Dark Lord closer, even though he knows the ring makes him invisible. And ultimately it takes an even bigger addict-- Gollum, has to bite the ring off of Frodo’s finger for him to let go of it. And then, it is really interesting when you read the series of three books, and you get to the middle of the third book and they have destroyed the ring and you are like, what is going to happen in the rest of this book? Isn't it over? But it isn't over, because it isn't a book about destroying the ring of Power; it is a book about letting go of an addiction and then having to go home to the real world. And what ends up happening when Frodo goes home is he has to confront the fact that his neighbors suck, that people will hurt you, that mundane life is hard to take. In fact, Bilbo can’t take it. Bilbo ends up leaving Middle-earth, because the other thing that is happening is that all of the magical creatures are leaving Middle-earth. And this is woven into the movie, but it is kind of lost and confusing we don’t really understand why. But in the book, the magical creatures are leaving Middle-earth because the age of magic is ending and the age of man is beginning. Because the age of addiction is ending, the age of escape is ending, and the age of being a real human being with real human problems is beginning. So this gets lost a little bit in the movie because they change the ring. They change the ring because they have a technical problem: they have a problem that the ring makes you invisible, and invisible is really hard to shoot without it looking cheesy. And so rather than turning Frodo into Casper The Friendly Ghost, they decide, “all right, well he can’t want to put the ring on because if he wants to put the ring on, then we are going to have to shoot him invisible, because there is no way to see him want to put the ring on if he doesn’t do it, not in a movie.” So what ends up happening is, instead of having him want to put the ring on, they make the ring heavy. And Frodo is whining to Samwise-- you probably remember this scene, “It so heavy...” But you aren’t crying with them, you don’t really feel it, because that isn't really what the movie is about. And by reversing it, they end up actually losing the theme-- that theme of addiction that tied the novel together. I don’t know that much about J.R. R. Tolkien’s life, but I would guess that either he had an addiction or there was someone profound in his life who struggled with an addiction. (Some have argued that he was writing about human-kind’s addiction to the commercial-industrial process). But whatever the experience, you can see that The Lord of the Rings is actually an adaptation of that experience. Not what actually happened literally, but what happened emotionally—what it felt like. Our job as screenwriters is actually quite simple; we use fiction in order to tell the truth. Sometimes using fiction in order to tell the truth means creating a metaphor like “the ring,” creating a fantasy world like Middle-earth that can represent the internal world, the internal experience,...


    Little Miss Sunshine to Dead Poets Society: Writing More than One Main Character Aug 15, 2017
    Show notes

    [spb_text_block pb_margin_bottom="no" pb_border_bottom="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] From Little Miss Sunshine to Dead Poets Society: Writing a script with more than one main character. by Jacob Krueger This week, we’re going to be talking about a whole bunch of movies, but they all have one thing in common. They all have more than one main character. There’s a lot of debate about the question of whether new screenwriters should write scripts with only one main character, or whether it’s okay for them to write scripts with multiple main characters. There are even some famous gurus who say that “multiplot” structures are just plain bad and that nobody should ever write them. It’s a good thing nobody ever gave Robert Altman that advice, (or at least if they did that he never took it) or we would have missed out on a whole chapter of film history! We’d also have missed out on a lot of other hugely successful movies, The Squid & The Whale, Little Miss Sunshine, Crash, The Shawshank Redemption, The Usual Suspects, The Godfather, Dead Poets Society, American Beauty, True Detective and the entire library of Quentin Tarantino. And at the same time, there are genuine risks when we break point-of-view and start telling a story from the point-of-view of multiple main characters. So what do you need to know about writing a script with more than one main character? In general, if you stay with your main character, very little bad can happen to you. If you stay with one character, very little bad can happen to you because you just have to focus on creating the journey of that character. Which is a far more intuitive process for most writers-- it feels more like our lives. In my life, for example, I don’t know what my wonderful TV Writing teacher, Merridith, does when she goes home. I only know what she does here in front of me at the Studio. Unless I literally follow Merridith home, that part of her life will always be hidden from my view. In my life, my experience of my relationship with Merridith happens only through my eyes. Only in what I get to see. And so, when we follow only one character, what happens is it allows us to feel like we are watching the movie through their eyes. And this is natural for us structurally, in that we’re used to experiencing the story of our own lives in this way. The other thing is that we end up with 95-105 pages that we get to dedicate only to one really specific journey. And that just allows us to dig deeper in one place, rather than digging shallowly in many places. When we start following multiple main characters, our point-of-view starts to shift. In narrative, they call it “omniscient point-of-view,” when suddenly we are sitting in the place of G-d, rather than sitting in the place of any single human being. And this is not the way we’re used to experiencing our lives. That doesn’t mean it can’t be a compelling experience. It can, especially if it connects to the theme of what you’re trying to write. But if it’s happening for superficial reasons, rather than organic ones, there’s a good chance you’re going to run into trouble. So, the real question is not if you should pull your audience, and yourself, out of the point-of-view of the main character, it’s why you are choosing to do so. In less successful screenplays, we often get pulled out of the main storyline to follow another character so that the audience can learn a little bit of exposition. In these cases, it’s often a manipulative technique by a writer who has not yet developed the craft to weave that exposition into the structure of her story. If you’ve watched crappy action movies, you’ve seen this all the time. You’re following the main character, and then you suddenly pop out and follow the bad guy. And the bad guy isn’t doing anything interesting, he’s just sitting there twirling his mustache, laying out his plan for the audience. The writer’s goal when this happens is usually just to create a little more tension for the audience. But this approach usually does the opposite of creating more tension, because rather than allowing us to experience the twists and turns as the character experiences them, instead it lays all the writer’s cards on the table, and it reminds you that you are in a movie and not experiencing things like you do in your real world life. In fact, this kind of sloppy exposition was famously skewered by Mel Brook’s in SpaceBalls. Rick Moranis has just made his dramatic entrance as Dark Helmet (“how can anybody breathe in this thing”) and then he and Captain Asshole lay out their whole plan to steal oxygen from planet Spaceball. And finally, Rick Moranis turns directly to the camera and asks the audience “Did you get all that?” So if you are bumping around different points of view just to serve your audience, you are probably in danger. At the same time some of the greatest movies of all time follow multiple points of view. The Usual Suspects follows multiple points of view, not only in its 3 layers of storytelling, but also within each layer. The Godfather is built primarily around Michael Corleone, but it also follows multiple points of view of Vito, Sonny, Fredo… even Luca Brazi! Little Miss Sunshine is primarily built around Dad’s point-of-view, but also follows the multiple points of view of Olive, Grandpa, Mom, and Uncle Frank. True Detective follows multiple points of view as it cuts between the Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey characters. Dead Poets Society follows multiple points of view, following each of the boys, the Robin Williams character, and the group as a whole. So there is a long history of great movies and TV Series that follow multiple points-of-view. Generally, when great movies follow multiple points-of-view, they are doing it for a couple of reasons. Sometimes you are more interested in exploring a world than exploring a character. You want to drop into that world and you want to see that world from multiple characters’ points of view. Sometimes you want to understand a conflict from multiple people’s point-of-view. This is something I got obsessed with for years. I wanted to write two main characters on opposite sides of the same war. For an example from a recent movie, in Dunkirk (you can listen to my Dunkirk podcast here) we change point-of-view a lot. Because Christopher Nolan is telling a story of a world— the world of Dunkirk-- and he is telling a story about how different kinds of people relate to the same problem. Sometimes you change point-of-view to explore a theme. This is what Dead Poets Society does. Dead Poets Society bounces around with different characters, and each character is going through a journey in relation to the idea of “sucking the marrow out of life” versus “choking on the bone.” And while some characters are sucking the marrow out of life, other characters are choking on the bone. And while some characters are choking on the bone, other characters are sucking the marrow out of life. And the whole movie is just constructed as an exploration of different characters wrestling with that same problem. And in that case it is telling the story of The Dead Poets Society, not just of one dude. Little Miss Sunshine is a movie in which every character is going to go on a journey in relation to winning. They are all losers, and they are all going to try to win, and they are all going to win but first they have to lose, they have to recognize that they are losers. For an example of a movie in which changing point-of-view doesn’t work, let’s go back to the subject of last week’s podcast: Atomic Blonde. As we discussed last week, Atomic Blonde is essentially a mash-up of… every movie we’ve ever seen. It’s Quentin Tarantino meets The Usual Suspects, meets True Detective--Charlize Theron’s character is supposed to be doing the Keyser Söze thing-- she is telling a story and there are all these other stories that are happening that may or may not be true, but you don’t really even understand what those stories are. And then you have these weird shifts in point-of-view where suddenly the secondary character just starts talking to you as the audience. And, at first, it seems kind of cool. “Oh what cool style--they are breaking the fourth wall and that is really cool.” But then when you try to get to the big payoff it doesn’t pay off. Because you’re wondering, “Well what did she make up and what did she actually see?” It can’t all be a fabrication, because this guy was literally just talking to you. It wasn’t all from the main character’s point of view, even though she’s the one narrating the story. So, one of the problems that you have when you start changing point-of-view is that you have to decide-- if the story is being recounted by somebody else-- how true do you want to be to their point-of-view? Do you want to show things that they haven't actually seen? Or are you willing to show things the way that they told themselves the story of it? For example, in Forrest Gump we are 99% with Forrest, but for 1% of the movie we are following Jenny alone. And we are following Jenny alone because of the tug in Forrest’s heart around Jenny. So what does all this mean? When in doubt, tell the story of one character. If a piece of you tugs you towards another character, then write that character. But don’t write that character to explain something to the audience. Write that character because, as you were writing your main character, something tugged at you and made you feel like you needed to go on a journey with this other character. ...


    Atomic Blonde Aug 09, 2017
    Show notes

    [spb_text_block pb_margin_bottom="no" pb_border_bottom="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] ATOMIC BLONDE Script Analysis: Guns are No Fun by Jacob Krueger This week we are going to be talking about Atomic Blonde by Kurt Johnstad. I would like to start this script analysis by talking about the way that I saw Atomic Blonde, because this was actually my first experience with 4DX. I went to a 9:15 screening and I am wondering, “Why am I spending $28 on this screening?” But it was the only screening that I could make. I show up, and I have no idea what to expect, and it’s not until I sit down that I realize the seats are on a platform that moves. There are fans and lightning effects, and when it rains in the movie, it sprays water on you. There are little air bursts that hit you every time a gun goes off, and the seat will shake you or kick you in the back when a fight scene is happening. And basically, this is the worst and most distracting way that I have ever seen a film. Rather than sucking you into the film, it actually shakes you out of the film. It reminds you that you are seeing a movie-- that you aren’t experiencing something real. And I am not telling you this to complain about 4DX, even though I think 4DX is a total nightmare… I am telling you this because oftentimes, as screenwriters, we make the mistake of inadvertently doing 4DX in our own screenplays. Rather than simply telling the story that we want to tell, simply pulling our audiences into our story in an organic way, we get so obsessed with all the bells and whistles that we end up distracting our audience from what makes our screenplay powerful. We get so obsessed with all the things that that are supposed to make it a “commercial” experience that instead of pulling our audience into the movie, instead of augmenting their experience, all those bells and whistles end up distracting from their experience, taking them out of the movie, shaking them out of the reality of the film. If you’ve taken my screenwriting classes you have heard me talk at length about the idea of screenplay formatting as a way of hypnotizing the reader. Ultimately what we are trying to do is to use formatting to capture the visual eye of the reader-- whether they are creative or not-- to allow our movies to play in the little movie screen of their mind. And bad screenplay formatting happens when we fail to do that-- when we either require the reader to supply their own creativity to make our screenplay cool or when we start shaking them with improper rhythm or with overly technical scene headings or with things that they can’t see or with dense action or with images that aren’t specific, that don’t play out exactly the way that we see them in the movie screen in our mind. Sometimes our action, the way we put it on the screen, the way we write our dialogue can be like those annoying jets of water and those annoying sprays of air and the shaking of the seats: they can shake us out of this world that we want to experience. So we have spoken at length about the idea of how sometimes our formatting can become our 4DX, can become that thing that is supposed to augment but instead shakes us out of the experience of the movie. What we haven't talked about as much is the way that sometimes our ambition -- our impulse to complicate what could be a beautiful and simple experience-- can shake our audience out of what should be a really great story. And for me this is very much the experience of Atomic Blonde. Atomic Blonde wants to be a Quentin Tarantino movie. And there is no doubt that to the extent Atomic Blonde succeeds, it succeeds because of its extraordinary fight sequences. Whatever the flaws of the film-- and there are many-- those fight sequences are really impressive on a number of different levels. The first is that this writer is deeply aware that guns are no fun. Often what happens in action movies is the bad guys can’t shoot and the good guys can. Often what happens in action movies is that the good guys are total badass characters and the best fighters and have the best skills and are total superheros and the bad guys are a bunch of idiots who can’t really do anything well. Atomic Blonde succeeds in the same way that Iron Man succeeds. Atomic Blonde and Iron Man both succeed because they realize that guns are no fun just like Iron Man suits are no fun. If Iron Man is going to work, you’ve got to get him out of the suit. And if Atomic Blonde is going to work, you’ve got to get the guns out of the hands of both the good guys and the bad guys. Because the guns are just too darn easy to use-- too darn easy to kill with-- if they’re used properly. Exciting action sequences don’t come from having the all-powerful weapon-- but from having the challenging weapon; having the knife, having the high heel, having the hand to hand combat, having the object that isn't meant to be fought with. So if you want to write a great action sequence, just like Atomic Blonde, you’ve got to make the most of every location and every object inside that location. Look at the location of your scene and ask yourself; what are all the objects that are available to you? What are all the objects that have never before been used in a fight sequence? And how can you use those objects in the wrong way? How can you surprise the expectations of the characters? How can you force the character to show who they are, to show their own ingenuity, to show their own badass-ness? You almost need to think of each of these challenging locations like a video game set--where each location comes with its own unique challenges, own unique pitfalls, many, many exciting ways to die-- and where everything is either an aid or an obstacle to the character getting what they want. Where every object gets used in the wrong way in order to create the most exciting action sequences possible. So, despite its many flaws, there is a lot that we can learn from Atomic Blonde when it comes to writing action, when it comes to the specificity of our action, and when it comes to this very important concept: Don’t let your action be about good guys kicking bad guy ass, get the guns out of their hands, get them out of the all-powerful suits. Don’t make your action about good guys who can shoot and bad guys who can’t, make it about good guys and bad guys who are both really good at their jobs, who are equally matched and who are both fighting with everything they’ve got. Make it about using the wrong weapons in the wrong way, not the right weapons in the right one. The other thing that Atomic Blonde does really well in its action sequences is that Atomic Blonde allows the fighting to hurt. We realize this is going to happen from the first time that we see Charlize Theron’s character, Lorraine Broughton. The first time we meet her, she is literally covered from head to toe in black and blue marks. We have a beautiful image of Charlize Theron naked, bruise covered, in her bathtub. And like all the images in Atomic Blonde, this image is gorgeous; the direction by David Leitch from a visual perspective is absolutely gorgeous. (The direction from a character perspective I have some concerns about. But the direction from making every shot beautiful-- just the way you want to make every shot beautiful in your script-- is quite impressive). So we have this first image of Charlize Theron naked in a bathtub. She is literally black and blue from head to toe. She looks like she has just been in the fight of a lifetime. And this is not the way we usually get to see our action heroes. We don’t usually get to see the aftermath. And that’s how this first image establishes a rule for how these fight sequences are going to work. It establishes a rule that the punches are going to hurt, the battles are going to hurt. This isn't going to be The A Team; this isn't going to be a battle or a fight sequence without consequence. We are going to allow the punches to land. One of the best fight sequences in Atomic Blonde happens between Charlize Theron and baddy bad looking bad guy German Stasi agent that she squares off with. There is a point during the fight where both of them are so tired from beating each other that they can barely stand-- when they are basically stumbling towards each other, trying desperately to find the will to walk much less to actually fight. And this is something we haven't seen a lot of in action movies, those fight sequences that actually hurt. Those fight sequences with consequence. So, on this level, Atomic Blonde is unusually successful. And yet, the experience of watching Atomic Blonde is emotionally kind of soulless. The experience of watching Atomic Blonde leaves you feeling really flat. And you can feel this isn't what the writer is trying to do. What it feels like the writer and what it feels like the director is trying to do and (if you’ve seen the trailer which is spectacular) what the trailer is trying to do, is to try to create that kind of Quentin Tarantino action movie feeling-- that kind of tongue in cheek super badass turn up the volume almost expressionistic take on action where it is a total joyride and a total romp watching the extreme violence. But that isn't the experience that we have watching this film. We don’t have the Quentin Tarantino fun. In fact, at least from my perspective, this movie wasn’t much fun at all. And part of that is because, despite the wonderful staging and the beautiful imagery of these action sequences, Atomic Blonde is taking itself very, very seriously. The film is taking itself so seriously-- it is so overly beautiful, and it is so overly complicated-- that it is hard to just enjoy the romp. ...


    Dunkirk vs. Saving Private Ryan Jul 29, 2017
    Show notes

    [spb_text_block pb_margin_bottom="no" pb_border_bottom="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] DUNKIRK PODCAST Dunkirk vs. Saving Private Ryan: What is Your Screenplay About? by Jacob Krueger This week we are going to be looking at Dunkirk by Christopher Nolan. On top of being an extraordinary cinematic experience, Dunkirk is a particularly interesting script to look at as screenwriters, because it breaks pretty much every rule that you’ve likely been told about screenwriting or about filmmaking in general, or certainly about the war movie genre. When we think about big budget war movies, we generally think about movies like Saving Private Ryan, movies about great heroism and winning the battle against incredible odds. And yet this is a war movie that (for the most part) isn't about winning but about losing. This is a war movie about a retreat, about a surrender, but also about the kinds of miracles that happen when people care about each other. This isn’t a typical Joseph Campbell Hero’s Journey about one great man, one great woman who saves the world. This is a movie about a lot of little individuals. Some of them are behaving bravely, and some of them are behaving cowardly. Some for their own survival, and some for the survival of others. Dunkirk is a movie that flies in the face of every traditional notion of star-power and how it’s supposed to be used in a big budget feature. This is a movie with an American budget with no American actors and no American characters. In fact, it features an actor in a starring role that we have never seen in a major motion picture before-- who spends most of the movie, from the very first scene, simply running away! He’s not “Saving the Cat” or behaving in any of the courageous ways we’ve been taught our main characters are supposed to behave. Not trying to help other people, but trying to save his own life in whatever manner is possible. He’s a guy who will pretend to be a Red Cross worker in order to try to sneak onto the boat that is evacuating the wounded. And yet we are able to connect with this character, we are able to care about him; we are able to feel for him. This is a movie that stars Tom Hardy and sticks him-- for most of the film-- in the cockpit of a plane and behind a mask that obscures so much of his face that we can’t even tell it is him! That takes its biggest name star and hides him from the audience that cloaks him in anonymity. And though in some ways this is an inside joke-- a nod to the recurring trend of directors covering half the face of one of the best actors in the business in roles ranging from Bane to The Road Warrior-- it’s also a thematic decision -- one that captures the anonymity of real heroism. That evokes the memory of the thousands of forgotten heroes of World War II and countless other wars. Dunkirk is also a movie that ignores most of the standard rules of the war movie genre. This is a big budget war movie with firefights shot almost entirely from the point of view of the pilots. It’s a war movie in which planes don’t explode in spectacular fashion but rather disappear silently into the ocean. A movie in which fighter pilots are more concerned with running out of fuel than with bad-ass lines of dialogue. A movie in which we watch not from the perspective of an audience being entertained by the fireworks, but from the perspective of exactly what it feels like to be a fighter pilot in the middle of battle. It’s an action movie in which the “good guys” don’t always win, and in which the bad guys can actually shoot. Where there are no supervillains, but no super heroes either. Where the Nazi pilots are as anonymous, and as good at their jobs, as the British ones. It’s a movie which assembled the largest naval unit in film history, not for a spectacular battle sequence, but for a simple journey against the waves of the English Channel. A movie in which Battleships don’t participate in spectacular action sequences, but sit helplessly loaded with frightened men, only to be sunk by a single bomb from the air or torpedo from the sea. It’s a movie in which even the good guy British soldiers are tainted by nationalistic racism and selfishness, turning French allies away from British boats, and even sacrificing the lives of their own foot soldiers to protect their air force and battleships. Dunkirk is a movie which completely rejects the idea of exposition, or the need to explain anything to the audience. Not only does the film lack a single memorable quip or funny line-- it barely has any dialogue at all! It doesn’t tell the audience any more than the individual soldiers on the beach know, moment by moment, just as they’re learning it, and sometimes even a step or two behind. And yet, it manages to create a compelling and convincing portrait of characters that all feel very different from each other. It manages to tell a story about Tom Hardy’s fighter pilot character-- a guy who makes a life changing decision-- and to capture the feeling and the emotional import of that decision with barely a word—simply with a blown fuel gauge, a couple of chalk calculations on his fighter jet console-- and a big decision at the end of the film. It’s a journey that is not structured around big speeches and feel good American values and huge heroic choices that lead to happy endings, but rather with a series of understated little choices that play out almost in real time, and add up to one big sacrifice that plays out nearly as quietly as the ones the tiny choices that preceded it. Dunkirk is a movie in which good characters not only die for something but sometimes die for nothing. It’s a movie filled with ethical confusion, and also profound empathy. A movie in which you may just have to understand that the half drowned soldier you save on your boat may be so damaged from the war that he may never be the same again. Where you may just have to understand that he may hurt someone that you love, not out of hatred, but out of terror. A movie in which the bravest choice may not be to fight but to accept the ugly truth of war. A movie not about justice, but about acceptance. And at the same time, a movie about holding onto the values that tie us together, and the risk we all face when, in the face of our fears for our own survival, we forget to hold onto those values. Christopher Nolan’s approach to Dunkirk’s battle sequences is a total inversion of Steven Spielberg’s unforgettably gory battle at the beaches of Normandy in Saving Private Ryan. Dunkirk presents an equally horrifying beach battle with virtually no blood at all. Rather than capturing the horror of war through gory violence and chaos, Nolan captures the same madness through the bloodless lens of orderly bureaucracy-- lining his soldiers up in orderly bureaucratic rows on the beach-- silently ducking them en masse as they are bombed, slaughtered and attacked. A horror of war in which most people simply get in line-- and which even the moments of individuality and self preservation which occur within that orderly slaughter are no more likely to lead to salvation than simply following the rules. This is a movie where characters make real decisions that aren’t Hollywood at all, real decisions under pressure drawn from research about the real events-- such as the character who at one point just gets up from the beach and walks into the water as if he could somehow swim the English Channel. This is a movie about plans for escape that don’t work out. Where risky acts of inspiration, like sneaking into a beached boat and waiting for the tide to rise, only lead to another way to die. So what is this screenplay built around that lets it break all of these rules and still succeed? On the simplest level, it’s because audiences don’t come to movies for the things that so many screenwriting teachers, so many producers, and so many writers spend so much time obsessing over. They don’t come for exposition. They don’t come for plot. They don’t come for nice “likeable” characters and memorable dialogue. They don’t come for formulaic structure or wrapping up everything with a bow. Audiences come to movies to go on a journey. To experience something that moves them emotionally, and transports them into a different kind of world. And to create that kind of experience for your audience, you only need two things. The first is a strong sense of your own intention in making the film-- the question you’re genuinely wrestling with, and the emotional journey you want to create for yourself by writing it. And the second is a character who wants something as badly as you do-- who wants something so badly they’re willing to do almost anything to get it. Who’s going to pursue that intention even in face of the biggest obstacles and most challenging consequences. Nolan is a big fan of Hitchcock, and one of the things that Hitchcock demonstrates so clearly in his films-- something forgotten by so many Hollywood filmmakers-- is that you don’t have to explain very much for an audience to feel suspense or to feel connection for a character. Simply rooting a character in their action, in their attempts to get the things they want-- simply rooting the character in their physical world and letting them try to do things that are really hard-- creates a feeling of connection and suspense for the audience, even if we don’t know exactly what is happening and even if we don’t agree with what the characters are doing. And what is really cool is that Christopher Nolan, by working in this way, drops you into the feeling of the war. Not just through the kinds of actions that the characters are taking, but also by the way that he shoots them. By creating a feeling of confusion that just washes over you. He drops you into the experience of the war, the experience not of having a clear objective and a clear plan,...


    Spider-Man Homecoming Part 2 Jul 18, 2017
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    [spb_text_block pb_margin_bottom="no" pb_border_bottom="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] Spider Man Homecoming Part 2 - Creating Unforgettable Characters & The Game of Screenplay Structure In last week’s podcast we talked about writing a great antagonist by letting go of our need to see them as the bad-guy, who “antagonizes” the main character, and instead stepping into our antagonists as real human beings. Because every character in your script believes that they are the hero of the story (just like every human being sees themselves as the hero of their story), to write a great character of any kind-- a character that actually lives and breathes--we need to see world through their eyes. And this begins by connecting to what our characters want. And what’s exciting is that when we start to think about our scripts in this way, we not only find unforgettable characters, we also start to organically discover the exact structure we need to tell our stories. In Spider-Man, Homecoming, what makes the character of the Vulture, Adrian Toomes (played by Michael Keaton) so compelling is that everything he does grows directly out of his simple human desire to provide for his family. And you can see, if you look at the structure of Spider-Man: Homecoming, that this isn't just the formula for creating a great bad guy, it is actually a way of creating an entire cast of unforgettable characters, and shaping the journeys they all go on in the script. Because every single one of these characters is really just a person with a really strong want and a really strong obstacle that forces them to reveal their really strong “how”—the way that they pursue the things that they want differently from everybody else. And when we understand a character’s want in this way, it allows us not only to enjoy the drama, but also to feel like we are in on a joke. It allows us to laugh at these characters even as we feel for them-- not because the characters are begging for a laugh, but because they are being themselves in a funny way. So let’s talk about Peter Parker. Just like Adrian Toomes, Peter Parker starts the movie with his own clear priority. His own clear superobjective. Peter Parker only wants one thing. Having returned from his adventure with the Avengers, the only thing he wants in the universe is to join the Avengers. He wants to wear that Spider-Man outfit that Tony Stark has given him. He wants to tap into the full power of that Spider-Man outfit that Tony Stark has given him. He wants to stop being treated like a kid and start being treated like an adult. He wants to stop solving little crimes and start solving the big ones. He wants to stop being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and become what he sees as a real superhero. In fact he wants it so badly that he consistently makes really strong choices in relation to all the other things that he wants-- in relation to the way the other kids at school see him, in relation to his secret identity, in relation to his Aunt May, in relation to The Academic Decathlon Competition and even in relation to The Homecoming after which the movie is named, and his desperate desire to date the coolest, richest, most perfect girl in school, Liz. Despite his desire to be with Liz, despite his desire to win The Academic Decathlon, despite the desire to be admired by his friends, despite his best friend Ned’s desperate desire for him to reveal his identity so he can stop being treated like a loser— even when Peter Parker wavers in his resolution in the face of the pressures of his daily life as a regular kid-- ultimately Peter Parker always chooses to be a superhero. Even if it means that none of the other kids will ever take him seriously. Even if it means that he is going to have to ditch his friends for The Academic Decathlon, even if it means he is going to have to ditch Liz at The Homecoming Dance, even if it means he is going to lose everything else that he wants—Peter always chooses the thing that he wants most. And because of that, it makes his inevitable choice at the end of the film-- which I am not going to spoil for you here but what you probably are already imagining if you understand structure-- it makes his ultimate choice and his ultimate journey so successful. In Improv this concept is called The Game of the Scene. But here we’re going to think about it as the Game of Structure. During an Improv, just like on the first blank page of a script, you’ve got two characters and you don’t know much about them. You don’t know who you are playing, and your scene partner doesn’t know who they are playing. Just like when you start out writing, even if you have some ideas, you really don’t know who your characters are, or how your characters are, or what they really want, or what they are really going to do, until they start interacting with each other. And as you play together, you learn who the other person is, and who you are, by telling each other things about each other and about yourselves. And ultimately what happens is, you find something that is funny, something that is fun. And once you find that thing all you have to do is keep doing it. And the audience will laugh their asses off every damn time. They will connect to your characters, because they understand your characters’ game. They understand what your character wants, and how they’re trying to get it, and what keeps going wrong. And that is why it’s called The Game of the Scene. You keep outdoing it and outdoing it and outdoing it-- and suddenly from that game, a structure emerges. If you’ve ever watched a sitcom, you’ve seen this technique used over and over again. But the same technique-- often without the humor--is used in character driven dramas, in psychological thrillers, and yes, even in big silly action movies. And you can see that it’s this simple Game of the Scene technique that provides the entire structure of Peter Parker’s journey. In movies, the-game-of-the scene can be found pretty easily. All you have to know is what the character wants, and then all you have to do is keep making it harder and harder and harder and harder, harder and harder and harder and harder. All that Peter Parker wants is to be part of the Avengers. So all you have to do is make it hard-- because Happy won’t take him seriously, because Tony Stark won’t take him seriously, because his friends at school won’t take him seriously, because he has to keep on disappointing the girl that he is madly in love with in order to run off and do superhero stuff... All you have to do is take that one want and make it harder and harder and harder and suddenly The Game of the Scene will emerge-- so long as the character keeps on going for what they want. In fact, you can see that this same technique is used to build the journeys of all the characters in Spider-Man: Homecoming. The same simple Game of the Scene. Finding the one thing the character wants more than anything, and then making it harder and harder and harder for them to get it, so that they have to make bigger and bigger choices that reveal more and more of who they really are, and who they really can be. One of the reasons Iron Man is so wonderful-- one of the reasons Tony Stark is so wonderful-- in Spider-Man: Homecoming is that Tony Stark, in this movie, decides he wants to be a father. And of course what makes it hard is that Tony Stark is terrible at being a father. What makes it hard is that all of his lessons go wrong, what makes it wrong is that all of his instincts take him to the wrong place. There is even a wonderful moment where he realizes, “Oh my god, I sound like my father!” And you can see that even though Tony Stark is a big rich powerful superhero, The Game of the Scene is actually rooted in his mundane world, in a world that we understand-- the grueling real life desire to be a dad and not being sure if you are good at it. And this is what makes the resolution of the story-- when Peter makes his choice-- so satisfying! Because we can feel Tony Stark’s journey as well. Similarly with Peter Parker’s unforgettable best friend and sidekick, Ned-- we know exactly what Ned wants. All Ned wants is to be the guy in the chair, to be the backend support for Spider-Man the superhero. And sure, he has some really messed up ideas about how Peter should deal with being a superhero. (Ned is absolutely convinced that Peter should tell everybody who he really is so that they will finally think he is cool and so he can finally get the girl. And that conflict creates a ton of fun but also creates a ton of conflict for Peter.) But the real structure of Ned’s story is just a simple desire to be the guy in the chair. And that is what makes the moment when he gets to be the guy in the chair so much darn fun! May—all that May wants is for Peter to talk to her. And she is going to try every strategy that she’s got because she knows something is going on. She knows he is sneaking out of the house, she knows he is not sharing things with her, she knows something is wrong, she knows that he is ditching the things that are important to him in school. She is trying patience, she is trying jokes, she is trying confrontation, she is trying everything she knows to find out what’s really going on-- which is what makes May’s final moment in the movie so much fun for the audience. We can feel her journey. Liz, the love interest, also has a very clear want. And what is so much fun about her want is that, if only Peter knew, it would make his whole life so much easier! Because all Liz wants... is Peter. ...


    Spider-Man Homecoming Jul 13, 2017
    Show notes

    [spb_column width="1/1" el_position="first last"] [spb_text_block pb_margin_bottom="no" pb_border_bottom="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] By, Jacob Krueger [/spb_text_block] [/spb_column] [fullwidth_text alt_background="none" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] Spider-Man Homecoming: How To Write a Great Antagonist Hello, I am Jacob Krueger and this is The Write Your Screenplay Podcast. On this podcast, rather than looking at movies in terms of “two thumbs up, two thumbs down, loved it or hated it,” we look at them in terms of what we can learn from them as screenwriters. We look at good movies and bad movies, movies that we loved and movies that we hated. This week, we are going to be talking about Spider-Man: Homecoming which is a surprisingly successful film compared to the others in this franchise. And what is nice is that this film doesn’t just succeed based on its fabulous action sequences or the wonderful actors involved in the production. This movie also succeeds because of its script. So, let’s talk about what makes this script so darn successful. And to do that we have to begin with a discussion about Antagonists. How do you write a great Antagonist? If you’ve studied screenwriting with me, you know that I don’t actually like the word Antagonist. The reason I don’t like the word Antagonist is because it suggests something that isn't true in the universe: the idea that there is supposed to be a character in your screenplay that exists only to antagonize the main character. Whenever I am thinking about film, I like to look at my life and think, “Okay, if it happens in my life, it can happen in a movie. And if it doesn’t happen in my life it can’t happen in a movie.” And that doesn’t mean that my movies all have to be naturalistic films, Spider-Man: Homecoming certainly isn't a naturalistic film in any way and it is hugely successful. What it means is that emotionally it needs to be true-- it means that what happens in the movie needs to grow out of an exaggeration of, or a reaction to, or a metaphor for, or an expression of something that is true about the universe. Because, once we get into the world where we aren’t writing an expression of something that is true about our universe-- once we are in that kind of fiction, the fiction that doesn’t come out of our life experience-- it is only natural that our movies are going to ring false. And if you’ve seen some of the other films in the Spider-Man franchise, and other big budget action movie franchise films, you can feel the effects of that untruth, when the events of the story and the reality—the emotional reality-- of life stop matching up. Despite all of its wild, high-stakes action and magic, what really makes Spider-Man: Homecoming succeed is its more grounded elements. Even its title, Spider-Man: Homecoming, is a pun that recognizes this truth on many levels. In part, it is about Peter Parker returning home after his foray with the Avengers and trying to go back to a real life. In a nudge-nudge, wink-wink way, it’s about a Homecoming for Spider-Man, back to his Marvel universe roots after his lonely sojourn with Sony. But it is also a movie about the homecoming dance which is really the most important thing in Spider-Man’s real world life at this time. It takes a lot of courage as a writer to write an action movie that is really set around a homecoming dance. It takes a lot of courage as a writer to realize that the real source of the story isn't going to grow from the big, larger than life relationships, but from the mundane ones—the ones that look like our own lives. So, how does this relate to Antagonists? I don’t like the word antagonist because antagonist makes us think that there is someone whose job is to antagonize you. And if I look at my own life, here’s the truth: there is nobody in my life whose job is to antagonize me! There are people who I might feel exist only to antagonize me; there are people who might drive me crazy. But the truth of the matter is, if I stepped in and saw the universe through their eyes, they don’t think of themselves as the antagonist. They think of themselves as the hero.” One of the cool things about movies and one of the cool things about life is that pretty much everybody in the world thinks that they are the hero and that other people are the bad guys. And that means that if we want to learn to write bad guys, we need to learn to step into their shoes, and see the world through their eyes-- to empathize with the people that we hate the most, the people that we don’t understand, the people that we think are horrible. There is a wonderful moment in which Peter Parker talks about the Antagonist in Spider-Man: Homecoming, Adrian Toomes (which is so wonderfully played by Michael Keaton) as a psychopath in a Vulture costume. But even Peter Parker is making the mistake of dismissing the real psychology of the antagonist. And when we do that, we, just like Peter Parker, lose track of what our own stories are really about. We not only miss out on writing antagonists who are fully formed and real, we also end up losing out on the political side-- the socio-political side of our story-- we lose out on telling a story that actually says something about our society and our world. If you compare Spider-Man: Homecoming to the Captain America: Civil War movie from which it’s spawned (here’s a link to my Captain America: Civil War Podcast), you can see the difference between rooting characters in real actions based on their real views of the world, and manipulating characters into fight sequences based on psychology that doesn’t really exist in the world. So, it is important to examine how we think about antagonists. How we think about the people we might perceive as antagonists in our own lives, and how we think about the antagonists in our movies. It is important that we remember that every antagonist thinks that he is the good guy. If you look at Star Wars through Darth Vader’s perspective, Star Wars isn’t the story of Luke Skywalker saving the galaxy. Star Wars is the story of a good man who lost 90% of his body trying to fight the good fight and do his job, whose only desire is to peacefully rule the galaxy with his son. For Darth Vader, the antagonist is Obi-Wan Kenobi, this terrorist outlaw who has kidnapped his kids, corrupted them with religious indoctrination, turned them against their own father and now recruited them to the same radical terrorist rebel movement that threatens to destroy everything Darth Vader and the Emperor have built. Do you know how much money, and time and effort it costs to build a Death Star? Do you know how many people die when you blow up a Death Star? From Darth Vader’s perspective, he is the good guy and the rebels are the terrorists. Just as from the rebel’s perspective they are the good guys and Darth Vader is the terrorist. To write any character well, what we really need isn't judgment but empathy. And this is important when we write our good guy characters too. If you’ve ever adapted a true-life story, or if you’ve ever spent a lot of time with a character, one of the things that starts to happen is you start to fall out of love with them. Just like in any relationship, you start to see the bad sides of their personality, their contradictions, their mundane qualities, the things that don’t fit your vision of them. And one of the tricks that you need to develop as a writer is learn how to step back inside of their point of view. Because, as we talked about in last week’s podcast, really all we are trying to do as writers is to see, hear and feel everything. We’re not just trying to see, hear and feel them in our own heads but to see, hear and feel everything through the point of view of our characters. And not just our main characters, but also our secondary characters, even our tiny little characters! We want to understand the world through their point of view. We want to understand that in Spider-Man: Homecoming when Zendaya’s character, Michelle, is in a scene, she thinks that scene is about her! When the nasty bully Flash is in a scene, he thinks that scene is about him. Just as Tony Stark thinks the scene is about him. Just as Happy Hogan thinks the scene is about him. Just as Marisa Tomei’s character May Parker thinks the story is about Aunt May. Every character thinks that they are the hero! And what that means is that every character enters the scene with a really strong desire. So in this Spider-Man podcast, let’s start not breaking down the structure with Peter Parker. Let’s not start with the main character like we usually do when we’re building a movie. Let’s start with the Antagonist. Let’s start with Michael Keaton. Let’s start with Adrian Toome. Let’s start with the Vulture. Like any great character, Adrian starts the film with a really simple desire. A really clear priority. Or to use acting terms, a really clear super-objective that governs all of his actions. There is here is only one thing Adrian Toomes wants in the universe: he wants to provide for his family. Michael Keaton is working to clean up the mess left from the end of the Avengers movie when all the alien weaponry was left in the wreckage of New York City. He is trying to do a good job. He is trying to build a good life for his family. He is trying to build a good life for the families of the people who work for him. And yeah, he is a tough guy with a tough temper. But mostly, he is just a man trying to do the right thing. Tony Stark, when he creates the Department of Damage Control,...


    The Craft of Screenwriting Jul 08, 2017
    Show notes

    [spb_column width="1/1" el_position="first last"] [spb_text_block pb_margin_bottom="no" pb_border_bottom="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] By, Jacob Krueger [/spb_text_block] [/spb_column] [divider type="standard" text="Go to top" full_width="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] [fullwidth_text alt_background="none" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] The Craft of Screenwriting: See, Hear and Feel Everything In last week’s podcast, we discussed the many differences between playwriting and screenwriting. So this week we’re going to be getting deeper into the craft of screenwriting: what it takes to write a script that succeeds on the page. As we discussed last week, writing a screenplay often takes more rewriting time than writing a play. And a big reason is that while most of a play exists in dialogue and develops over rehearsals and workshops, successful screenplays must exist in a far more more finished form on the page. Technically, so much of rewriting for playwrights takes place during production in the rehearsal process. Whereas most of rewriting a screenplay is going to take place before your movie is even sold or greenlit. And unlike literary managers at theatres, who are often MFA or PhD graduates with a love of literature, degrees in theatre and a deep understanding of how plays funcion on the page, most screenplays are read by coverage readers, or interns, who not only often have no training at all in how to read a screenplay, but at best are probably skimming your work for $50 bucks a script. Which means that to succeed as a screenwriter, you must do more than create a blueprint for success. You must in fact create a screenplay that fully demonstrates the experience of your movie for even the least trained reader-- that transports them from reading to seeing, and plays effortlessly in the little movie screen in their mind, so that they can see, feel and hear everything, just like if they were watching the film. So that is just something you need to accept; in order to bring your screenplay to that level you are going to need to do more rewrites. The good news is that the same rigor that you must bring to your craft in order to have commercial success as a screenwriter will also build you creatively as an artist. In order for your reader to see, hear and feel everything, you are going to have to see, hear and feel everything yourself! That means developing both your art and your craft as a screenwriter. First learning to step into each character and fully visualize each scene as an artist, and then developing the craft you need to translate what you see, hear and feel into a form that others can easily understand. There is a different balance that all writers need to strike, about how slowly you’re going to work through your script, or how quickly, how much time you’re going to spend writing and how much rewriting. Last week we discussed the example of a line of screenplay action like “Mary is writing… ” We discussed how that might seem like proper screenplay action, but in fact, is not. Because it reveals nothing about Mary’s character, or what we’re actually seeing on the screen. Rather than forcing us to get creative as screenwriters, a line like “Mary is writing” lets us of the hook creatively, and instead asks our reader to do our job- the creative act of making it look cool in their own head-- a creative act that they are little prepared to do. For screenplay action to function properly, you have to capture it in a way that allows the reader to visualize it instantly in the movie screen in their mind, and tell themselves the story of your movie, your character, your character’s journey. As we discussed last week, you might see “Mary’s cracked fingernails click the keyboard.” Or you might see “Mary’s bejeweled hand signs a letter with a golden fountain pen.” Completely different versions of “Mary is Writing.” And each version reveals a completely different version of who Mary is, and what Mary wants, and what direction Mary’s journey will take. So this is different for every writer. But the most important thing whenever you are writing is this: As a screenwriter, you need to see, hear and feel everything. And this is really the hardest part, because we have this urge to finish. And that urge to finish makes it really hard to actually see, hear and feel everything. We want to put a band aid on it. If you’ve ever had a fight with a loved one, you have probably had the same urge, “I want the fight to end.” And the desire for the fight to end doesn’t allow you to actually see, hear and feel what is actually going on. So you just keep glossing over it. And what happens is our little A.D.D. minds want us to escape, “okay over here…no, no, look over here, no, no, no look over here.” Because the other thing about seeing, hearing and feeling everything is it is scary. It is hard and it is scary. It is hard because it requires a tremendous amount of focus, and it isn't a tool that we are used to using, especially our A.D.D world, where we are used to stimuli coming from all over the place and constantly multitasking. It takes certain stillness in the mind, a certain kind of meditation practice to actually do this: to see, hear and feel everything. But the other thing is that when you start to pay attention, emotional stuff comes up. So there is a first part that is just the practice, building the practice of being able to maintain your attention. And then there is the other part which is, eventually your characters are going to show you everything you don’t like about yourself. They will also show you everything that you love about yourself, everything that is beautiful about you; they will show you things that are beautiful about you that you don’t even know yet. But they are also going to show you all the stuff that you don’t like. And when you see that stuff that you don’t like about yourself, it is tough. It is emotional and those emotions are going to come up in intense ways. And then there is another thing that comes up when you try to do this, which is a feeling of frustration: “I can’t see it! I can’t see it clearly enough yet, I don’t know it yet...” And another type of frustration which is: “I see it clearly but I can’t get it onto the page in the way that is the way I see it!” And then there is another level of frustration: “I got it on the page the way I see it, but what if it isn't good? What if nobody else likes it? What if it isn't specific enough? What if it is cliché? What if it is boring?” There are all these of roadblocks in our way around this practice. So, how do you approach it? There are a couple of different ways, and like with anything in screenwriting, or in life, finding the path that you should take begins with your goal. If you don’t know what your goal is, it is going to be very hard to know how to handle these obstacles. But these obstacles are only important in relation to your goal. So, for example, if your goal is to finish, for most people this is the wrong goal. For most people it is the wrong goal in life, and the wrong goal in screenwriting. And I say for most people; it isn't for all people. If your deadline is tomorrow, your goal should be to finish. If you are a person who never finishes anything, your goal should be to finish. It is more important to be finished than good if you have trouble finishing. For most people the urge to finish is not because they never finish anything and it is not because they have a deadline; it is because they don’t want to do the hard work of seeing, feeling, hearing everything-the emotional work of actually dealing with the problems in their script. If you went to see Yo-Yo Ma at Carnegie Hall and Yo-Yo was just like, “I just got to get to the end of this performance” as he played, it probably wouldn’t give you a very good experience. You’d probably feel a little ripped off. And yet so many writers hope that they can rush to the end of their screenplay and somehow get that big financial payoff, that big Academy Award, that big boost in their career or change in their life. Somehow imagining that no one is going to notice their rushed performance because the idea is good or the talent is there. When the truth is, we work in an incredibly competitive industry, and there are a lot of writers out there who are actually doing that Carnegie Hall level work. And the difference between reading their writing, and the writing of a writer who is rushing to finish is completely unmistakeable. If you want to get to where you’re going, you’ve got to concentrate on being where you are. If you rush your early stuff to get to the finish, here’s what is going to happen: No one is going to read to the finish. You are going to have this great ending that nobody gets to, because your early stuff wasn’t really working. If your beginning doesn’t grab the reader from the very first page and make them see, feel and hear the story in your head, for all intents and purposes, your ending doesn’t exist. Because nobody is going to read it. They’re going to stop reading in the first 10 pages, during all your boring setup. So, if your goal is to finish, you want to ask yourself, why is my goal to finish? If you goal is to finish, you want to ask yourself, am I rushing or is this a real need? One of the ways that I deal with this for myself is to set deadlines for everything. I love deadlines. Because deadlines let me know when I have time and when I need to rush. But for these deadlines to work they have to be reasonable d


    Plays vs Screenplays Jun 24, 2017
    Show notes

    [spb_column width="1/1" el_position="first last"] [spb_text_block pb_margin_bottom="no" pb_border_bottom="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] By, Jacob Krueger [/spb_text_block] [/spb_column] [divider type="standard" text="Go to top" full_width="no" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] [fullwidth_text alt_background="none" width="1/1" el_position="first last"] What makes writing a screenplay so much different from writing a play? Transcript From Podcast: The process of writing a screenplay is different from writing a play in many essential ways. The first is the difference in the use of action. For screenwriters, action is the primary tool of structure. But for playwrights, the primary tool is dialogue. Don’t get me wrong. As a playwright, you need to visualize to some degree what is happening on the stage in order to really create your dialogue, in order to create the piece. But you don’t have to communicate that to anybody else. People don’t need to see your play in their mind like they do when reading a screenplay; they need to hear it, and they need to see the big elements. You get to rely on the director, because plays have this thing called rehearsals. It is crazy that rehearsals, for the most part, don’t exist in filmmaking. Even though some of the really great film directors do rehearse-- for example Francis Ford Coppola had a history of bringing the cast up to his estate to rehearse-- most film directors don’t rehearse at all. That’s for a very simple reason: stars cost about $20 million bucks, and who has that kind of money to spend on rehearsal? So you end up in this very weird process where not only you are going to have no rehearsal, but also you are going to shoot all your scenes out of order. So you aren’t even going to have a continuity of knowing “this, leads to this and then this leads to this and then this leads to this…” as you shoot your film. So it becomes much harder to track the structure from scene to scene as you shoot, as you could if you were rehearsing a play. Writing a play can take place on a much more intuitive level, because you don’t have to communicate what you’re seeing to anybody else beyond just the very basics. But for a screenplay you need a much more substantial infrastructure. The second element that makes playwriting so different from screenwriting is that plays have fewer moving pieces than screenplays. Screenplays have way too many moving pieces! And this is actually part of what led me to create Seven Act Structure for myself. When I was a playwright, I didn’t need any way of consciously dealing with structure, because intuitively I am pretty good at structure. So, when I was a playwright I didn’t think about things like “Okay what is going to be the big turn or the big structural choice here?” I just got to dig in. As a playwright, I always thought of writing like peeling the layers of an onion. I want to meet some people who want some stuff, and as they try to get the stuff that they want, slowly I am going to get to know who they really are and what they really want. Slowly they are going to reveal themselves to me, and to themselves, and to each other over the course of the play. And that is a very intuitive process; it is like getting to know someone. It’s the same thing that you do every day when you connect with someone… You meet somebody you think, “Oh they are cool!” So, you hang out. You think you know who they are, then you start to learn things as you both pursue what you want in the relationship-- you start to learn who they really are, and who you really are with them, and who you both really are in relation to each other. And changes start to happen; sometimes they are beautiful changes, and sometimes they are catastrophic changes and usually they are both. So that is a very intuitive process and it is one of the reasons we are able to channel it faster as playwrights. The third thing about plays that is very different from screenplays is that playwriting audiences, theatre audiences, are much more comfortable with metaphor than filmmaking audiences. And this is changing a little bit. For example, we saw magical realism in Narcos, we have real world human beings with surrealistic animal elements in Bojack Horseman, and even the new Wonder Woman, which most people certainly wouldn’t consider expressionistic in any way, has a character who exists for metaphorical, rather than plot driven reasons: a Native American character who randomly shows up at the German Front during World War 2. He is there for a metaphorical reason. The metaphorical reason is, as we discussed fully in last week’s Wonder Woman Podcast, that the film is really an exploration of war, a look underneath the fundamental assumptions of most action movies: a movie that raises the question are people actually good? Wonder Woman’s love interest in the film is an American spy, Steve. And, of course, as an American in a Hollywood movie, in relation to this theme, of course this character is the most fundamentally good among all the wacky good guy sidekicks. And so they show up at the German front, and there’s a random Native American that joins the team. And one of the characters asks him the same damn thing that we’re asking-- “Why the hell are you here?” And here’s his answer: “Well somebody took my land.” “Who took your land?” “That guy - the good guy? His people.” Which, is pretty impressive for a mainstream action movie-- and starts to deepen the theme, and deepen the question at the center of the movie-- that fundamental assumption of all action movies that we’re the good guys and they’re the bad guys-- and that all we have to do to make a better world is find a way for the good guys to win. In a play you just have the Native American show up. You just let him serve his metaphorical purpose. You don’t have to explain “Well I am also here for the money…. you see... well, there is nothing left for me in the United States…,” you don’t have to explain him, he is just there. So this is the other difference-- the different level of tolerance for metaphor versus pragmatic content in plays and screenplays. And this is just because screenwriting is a newer art form; playwriting has been around forever, and when it started off, it wasn’t all that metaphorical. When they started off it wasn’t Theatre of the Absurd, it wasn’t Expressionism, it was- “all right let’s tell a bunch of stories-- and it is always going to be the same formula; there is going to be a good person, they are going to commit an act of hubris, and eventually through that act of hubris they are going to try to escape their fate, and eventually that hubris is going to lead everyone to die or suffer horribly.” No matter what, the fate is going to happen. Like a Three Act Structure or Save The Cat! it is just a formula. Back from when theatre was young. And then what happened was, over time, people saw play after play after play... and they started to realize, “this is frickin’ boring!” It isn't that the plays are boring, but the same thing again and again is boring. And over time, new movements came up and theatre evolved, just as we’re seeing film-- even big action movies-- start to evolve now. And as a result, people who see theatre are much more comfortable with the idea that weird stuff is going to happen on stage. In filmmaking, in the middle of a giant fight scene, you can have like a really funny quip, or you can kill somebody’s father, and they are sad for two seconds, and then we are on to the next scene and it is a love scene. Or you can jump off a building and land by catching with your pinky and we are comfortable with that. We are used to that kind of expressionistic stuff in action movies-- “this is what it feels like to be an awesome action hero” versus, “this is what it actually looks like to be an action hero.” So, most audiences are comfortable with that level of expressionism, but most audiences aren’t that comfortable yet with metaphor. What this means is that in theatre, you can translate your instincts in a different way from the way you translate them in film. In theatre, the line between dreams-- your interior world, your impulse, what it feels like to you, the random image that popped up into your mind-- and what makes it into the final draft is a much thinner line. And that means, plain and simple, that screenplays often require more rewriting than plays do. Part of the reason for that is, to some degree, theatre always looks fake, whereas most movies-- with the exception of art films like Where the Wild Things Are-- the adaptation of the children’s book that was actually purposely made to look fake-- that was made to look the way a child might imagine the place where the Wild Things are, as opposed to how a brilliant CGI artist would imagine it… But with the exception of films like these, especially in the non-animated world, we haven't really seen a lot of movies that purposely try to look fake. Even our animation is moving more towards looking real. In theatre, you can’t look real. In theatre, people are very, very, very aware that there is a stage and there are actors up there. And if you do accomplish something that looks real, you will get applause, because people are so consciously aware of what it took! “Oh my god, how did they do that?” A couple of years ago I took my niece Mia to see Mary Poppins on Broadway, which is one of the worst adaptation of a great film that has ever, ever, ever occurred. But it was one of my proudest moments as an Uncle. She was so young; this is her first play, she was maybe five years old. And halfway through the play she looks at me and she says, “This is boring to Mia.” The reason it was boring to Mia-- well first off, structurally, they took the story out! So,...


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