Fun with Numbers: Moneyball with movies

If you saw Moneyball, you probably remember how Brad Pitt's Billy Beane revolutionized the baseball scouting mechanics by focusing not on the typical stats that seemed to assure success - but by scrutinizing a player's on-base percentage.  Thus, Beane was able to identify undervalued players who were capable of getting on-base and thus, in a position to score.  When you can stock the bench with guys less likely to strike out or get tagged out, your odds of bring those guys back to home plate also goes up.  And that means runs.  Several base hits can add up to being as good as a home run.

Unfortunately, in the film industry, we seem to have not learned that lesson.  Spielberg and Lucas got a lot of attention last month when they decried the negative impact of the studios focusing only on tentpoles.  Spielberg complained that Lincoln nearly ended up on HBO and they predicted that the whole industry would eventually implode when too many of these films tank.  Basically, Hollywood seems to be only going after the home run hitters.

But what about the movies that can get "on-base?"  Let's take a look at five of this past summer's sleeper hits.

The Conjuring - $20M Budget / $127M domestic gross / $193M worldwide
The Purge -        $3M / $64M / $83.6M
The Heat -         $43M / $155M / $204.8M
Now You See Me - $75M / $116M / $274M
This is the End - $32M / $96.5M / $112M

Total production budgets for those five films - $173M
Total worldwide gross of those five films - $816M

So even if you were to assume $40M each in marketing costs for those films, that means that less than $400M was laid out for a return of $816M.  Not bad, wouldn't you say?

Interestingly enough, Now You See Me is the only one where the domestic take of the worldwide gross was less than 72%. (57% of Now You See Me's gross came from overseas.)  And hey, look at that - all five of those films are original ideas.  Four of the five also happen to be R-rated, which is an interesting trend.

The Lone Ranger cost $215M (yeah, right), which means that for the cost of that film - all five of the summer sleeper hits could have been produced with plenty of money left over.  Thus far it's only made $87M domestically (outgrossed by all of the above films but The Purge) and a mere $217M worldwide.

Pacific Rim cost $190M, which is still more than those five films combined.  It's made $384 worldwide.  That's better, but it's still not great.

I'm cherry-picking, of course, so let's take a look at a film that's considered a hit: Man of Steel. It cost $225M to produce and took in $289M domestically.  Worldwide, that's $648M, which again, still doesn't really rival the five films there.  (Unless the marketing costs for those five films was significantly higher than assumed.)

Somebody at the studios has to notice this eventually.  I know that if I was running a studio, I certainly would be interested in getting five at-bats for the cost of one Lone Ranger.  This summer's been a grim reminder that while some big bets CAN get big returns, they're also capable of yielding large deficits.

There's money to be made from the base-hitters. Hopefully that won't be forgotten any time soon.

Why THE SPECTACULAR NOW is so spectacular

There are a lot of virtues to be found in The Spectacular Now, but perhaps one of the most satisfying elements is the honest writing of the characters.  This is one of those movies where the viewer can't help but marvel at how authentic everything feels, even when it would be so easy for the script to veer into more common explorations of first love and high school cliques.  As I left the theatre, I couldn't help but think of all the ways this film would be very different if it existed in the universes of Can't Hardly Wait or She's All That.  It's become common to invoke comparisons with John Hughes' films when it comes to more nuanced portrayals of teenagers.  I wouldn't draw too many parallels between Hughes' better films and The Spectacular Now myself, but this film is impressive enough in its own way.

This Sundance hit is directed by James Ponsoldt from a script adapted by Scott Neustadter & Michael H. Weber, from the Tim Tharp novel of the same name.  Adding to the strong pedigree is a fantastic cast, toplined by Miles Teller and Shailene Woodley, backed up by a murder's row of excellent supporting actors.  Ponsoldt is coming off of a writing and directing turn on last year's Smashed, which made an excellent case for Mary Elizabeth Winstead being a long-underrecognized talent. (Winstead shows up here as well, in an all-too-brief turn as Teller's sister.)  In a strange way, The Spectacular Now is a natural companion with Smashed, as both deal with alcoholism with more nuance and insight than the vast majority of films that address the topic.

The film is a coming of age story, but it would also be accurate to call it a film about an alcoholic that never invokes the word "alcoholism."  Teller's Sutter is in a funk after being dumped by his girlfriend (the increasingly ubiquitious Brie Larson) and after a wild night of getting it out of his system, he's discovered on a stranger's lawn by classmate Aimee.  It's a surprisingly well-handled Meet Cute that transitions rather easily to the two of them bonding during a drive.  The next thing we knew, Sutter is offering to have lunch with Aimee the next day at school.

They're from different worlds in terms of their school identities, but one of the early smart choices that the script makes is it doesn't fall into the cliche view of high school that only exists in movies.  There was a period during the late 90s and early 2000s where every teen movie had a scene where a character broke down the cartography of the school cafeteria clique-by-clique: the jocks, the nerds, the burnouts, the popular kids, the atheletes and so on.  A lesser script would have made Sutter big man on campus, wearing a letter jacket and surrounded by football playing meatheads.  Meanwhile Aimee would have been an arty nerd with glasses and overalls.

Was anyone's high school experience THAT on-the-nose? My school certainly had people that fell into those categories, but few were rigidly in one catagory and there was a lot of overlap in cliques.  In weaker teen movies, you can spot the archetypes just by looking at them.  Here, Aimee and Sutter don't immediately look like they belong to different worlds.  They're teens, not archetypes.

Sutter's popular, but that's the result of a big heart rather than more archaic notions of high school infamy.  Yes, the hot girls know he's the one to come to to score booze, but his best friend looks like a textbook example of the "geek" stereotype and one of the first things we see Sutter do is try to set his friend up with a "regulation hottie" (to borrow a term from Mean Girls.) It's hard not to like this guy, and Teller's charisma really helps sell that this is the kind of guy who'd make friends easily.  There's an ease and a confidence to his interactions that almost effortlessly disarms whoever he's talking to.

There's also a small moment that underscores how un-conceited he is.  When a fellow classmate asks Sutter for advice in how to deal with a woman, Sutter is shocked advice would be needed, pointing out the guy is class president, popular and the founder of a charity.  Sutter's mother is right when she says he has a big heart, as he not only seems to see the best in people, but he's often a catalyst for bringing it out.

Because Sutter is life of the party, it doesn't initially seem that odd to us when we see him drinking.  Underage drinking isn't exactly a revelation, and especially in teen movies, where half the time writers barely pay lip service to the legalities.  But over time, we notice that it's rare we go more than two scenes without being reminded of Sutter's flask.  He drinks at parties, he drinks on the job, he drinks while hanging with Aimee.

Sutter's girlfriend seemingly dumps him because she catches him in a car with another girl.  He explains it's an innocent misunderstanding - and it is - so our impulse is to say "what a bitch!" with regard to the ex.  But about midway through the film, the ex regards Sutter and his new girlfriend and privately asks, "Have you turned her into a lush yet?"

If you're looking for a moment that redefines the entire film, it might well be that single line of dialogue.

Aimee has been hanging out more and more with Sutter, and at first we feel like we're seeing the typical story where that one perfect guy recognizes the beauty in this girl that every one else has overlooked.  There's a brief stretch of the story where Sutter seems poised to be the male equivalent of Natalie Portman's Garden State character - the free spirit who awakens the hero's drive and passion.  But the script doesn't take that path, and it doesn't make the mistake of turning Sutter into a female fantasy of that perfect guy who will see her for what she is.

The sweetness of those earlier moments is tempered by other scenes where Sutter can't help but stare at his ex across a party, or chat with her on IM.  We see Aimee blossoming under Sutter's attention, but we also fear the moments when Sutter screws up, goes back to the ex and stomps Aimee's innocent heart.

That moment never comes.  But do you know what we do get plenty of? Sutter introducing Aimee to alcohol.  Sutter buying her a flask.  The two of them sharing drinks even as they bond.  Instead, we start to understand that Sutter's ex may have dumped him not over an imaginary indiscretion, but because of his lack of direction and his over-reliance on the booze.  Indeed, "Have you turned her into a lush yet?" is a question that makes one realize perhaps the ex-girlfriend feared that's what her relationship with Sutter would do to her.

It's poignant to see moments that demonstrate how Sutter is so good for Aimee and yet also so bad for her at the same time.  Aimee's deflowering is one of the more beautiful and honest depictions of such a scene in recent film history.  There's an intimacy to the performances and the direction that allows the audience to get swept up with the young love without feeling awkward at witnessing their first consummation.  When moments like that are played for laughs or titillation, it's easy to distance oneself from the scene.  This scene doesn't take that out - going straight for the raw, honest emotion.

Even as Sutter brings out the best in her by encouraging her to be more independent, we can't help but notice her own flask becomes more ever-present in scene after scene.  I don't believe Aimee is an alcoholic, nor do I believe Sutter's drinking makes him a bad person. They genuinely love each other, which makes it all the more difficult to accept the conclusion that they might not be right for each other.

I don't wish to delve too deeply into spoilers for the end, but this next paragraph will spill a few details.  It's interesting to me to contrast this film's ending with Ponsoldt's Smashed. The earlier film concluded that no matter how much Winstead's character loved her husband, she was never going to be able to deal her alcoholism in that environment.  She had to move on from him, and that was depicted as the right choice.  The Spectacular Now flips that somewhat, having Sutter push Aimee away for what he tells himself is her own good.  And yet, the ending makes that split less definitive.  While The Spectacular Now is a great love story, there's an argument to be made that it's a spiritual prequel to Smashed.  Does that comparison diminish the happy overtones of the ending? Perhaps, but it does not diminish the film iteself.

The Spectacular Now is a film that left me with a lot to say - a unfortunate rarity these days.  The more I think back on individual moments in the film, the more in awe I am of all the creative collaborators involved - writers, actors and the director.  As I said yesterday on twitter, if Scott Neustadter & Michael H. Weber aren't nominated for a Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar, something will have definitely gone amiss.  Teller and Woodley also do fantastic work, but I fear their youth and the lack of showiness to their roles will lead to them being overlooked.

I feel pretty confidant in saying that The Spectacular Now is all but a lock for my Ten Best of 2013 List and if you're a fan of strong characters and compelling drama, it'll find a place on yours too.

The art of asking a good question

Though I've been doing what I can about keeping up with reader mail, there's no denying that the last few months I've fallen behind.  If you've sent an email and I haven't responded - either via the blog or directly - I'm sorry about that, but real life has gotten in the way a lot lately.  I had some time this weekend to dig into the mailbag and after rereading several emails I had set aside, I found I had a few things to say.

It's totally understandable that new people would be discovering the blog every week.  Heck, that's what every blogger hopes will happen.  It's a good thing to have an expanding audience.  However, I received more than one email that started with a sentence like, "I just discovered your blog and I wonder if you can tell me how to get representation."

I hope this doesn't come off as dickish, but the "How do I get an agent?" question is one of the most frequent questions any screenwriting blog has.  So when faced with a new blog of over 900 entries, it might be a good idea to poke around, maybe see if there are any relevant tags about "getting an agent."  I even have a whole video series on "I Wrote It, Now What Do I Do With It?"  I get that there are a lot of tags to go through, but you can do a word search for the appropriate tag, or even Google your question along with "Bitter Script Reader" and see what pops up.

Here's why I bring this up - I assume that the way most people approach me through the blog is roughly the same as how they'd approach any working pro in the industry - ESPECIALLY writers.  You're not going to get off on the right foot with those people if you ask them a question while pretty much making it clear you haven't done any legwork yourself.  When I find a new blog, I'll often take a glance through the archives to see what topics they've covered.  It's certainly something I do before I email someone for an answer.

This is a roundabout way of saying that if you are lucky enough to get the email address of a working pro, do a little research before shooting them an email.  I know that I'm far more likely to respond to a brief email from someone who clearly has made an honest effort to make sure I haven't already covered their query.  That's often the difference between an email that gets answered and an email that gets ignored in favor of more pressing ones.

Another point that you'd do well to consider - keep your email brief.  Most of you are pretty good about this, but every now and then someone will beat around the bush in their emails, maybe telling me their life story before settling on what will inevitably be a question asking if I can help them get an agent.  When I get one like that, I can't help but think that meandering queries like that are why they haven't gotten an agent yet.

I bring this up less to complain about the kinds of emails I get, and more to give you all something to consider as you write emails to agents and managers who you are approaching for representation.  You've got to make a good impression in a limited amount of time, so don't expose yourself as ignorant and don't make the email an imposition to read.

Tuesday Talkback: The Prestige and ambiguity

In recent weeks, I happened across two separate articles about The Prestige - both of which seemed to have been written under the assumption that a critical plot point happened a particular way.  My beef - that's not how I've seen the movie at all.  When I took to Twitter to clarify that my interpretation was right, I found plenty of people who agreed with me, but a surprising amount of people who clung to an alternate interpretation.  There was also one guy who felt I'd blown his mind by making him examine the film a different way.

The point of contention: The magician played by Hugh Jackman has paid Nicola Tesla to create a device that will transport him from one place to another, making it the signature act of his stage show.  The first few times Jackman's character tests the machine, he's frustrated that his test subjects - top hats - go nowhere.  At least that's how it appears until after several attempts he goes outside and some 30 yards away, there are a pile of hats.  Thus, it's not a transporter, it's a duplicator which sends the duplicate some distance away.

This is reinforced later when Jackman tests the machine on himself, only to have a duplicate appear, which he promptly shoots dead.  After that, Jackman figures out how to use this in his show.  As the machine is activated, a trap door is also triggered beneath it, which leads to a water tank wherein the person standing on the platform drowns.  Thus, when Jackman steps into the machine the trick ends with one Jackman materializing at the other end of the theatre, while the other one falls to his death - every night.

Here's my assertion - the duplicate is the one who materializes at the back of the theater.  Thus, the Jackman who finishes the trick is NOT the same Jackman who steps into the machine.  The Jackman who steps into the machine dies every night.  However, since the clone carries all the memories of the original, he never experiences that death and thus, would regard himself as the "real" Hugh Jackman.  But he's a clone several times over.  The original Jackman is long dead, having given his life in service to the greatest magic trick he'd ever accomplish.

Other people seem convinced that the duplicate is the one who ends up in the water tank every night.  That Jackman is merely murdering his duplicates again and again.  For this to be accurate, the machine would have to transport the original Jackman, while leaving behind a duplicate in his exact position and also accomplish that so seamlessly that the original article appears not to vanish - not even for a second.

That's hard for me to believe. (It also means that the "real" Jackman dies unceremoniously when his first clone shoots him as described above.) It feels more convoluted when the simpler solution is that the original stays where he is and the duplicate is projected elsewhere.  I'll concede that the film doesn't make explicit how the machine works.  We know what Jackman believes to be the truth, but that's not the same thing as being certain he's right.  I also think it's no accident that the film leaves open my interpretation of events.

What strengthens my conviction in my interpretation is that it simply makes for a more resonant story.  Jackman killing his clones again and again is little more than a shocking plot twist, but it doesn't resonate.  But a man who's essentially committing suicide night-after-night in service to his art? That's potent and dramatic, especially if he doesn't even recognize the full weight of that.  After all, the Jackman who takes the bow has the memories of stepping into the machine and ending up at the rear of the theatre.  From his point of view he's immortal.

But in practice, his life only lasts as long as the time in between shows.  Tell me that's not a better ending.

Even better - John Gary pointed out to me that something I failed to appreciate.  Early in the film, Jackman's wife dies when a trick goes wrong.  More to the point, she drowns during a failed water escape.

She drowns.  How does Jackman commit suicide every night?  What method does he choose to snuff out the inconvenient "extra" Jackman?

He drowns him.  Every night, Jackman steps on stage and takes his own life in the same way his wife tragically lost hers. It's like a penance he cannot ever fully pay.

All of this galvanizes my resolve that my interpretation is most likely the "correct" one.  The ambiguity is there so that we can discover it for ourselves rather than have it pounded into our heads directly.

That said, there are people who cling to their alternate interpretations rather firmly.  So for today's talkback, I thought I'd solicit the audience about instances where they came away from a film with one firm interpretation, only to encounter someone who had a completely different understanding of the story.

Why Save the Cat didn't destroy screenwriting: it's all been done before

This is a replay post from a couple of years ago, but recent events have convinced me that it merits spotlighting again.  My buddy J.J. Patrow did an excellent comparison that placed the screenwriting philosophies of several leading "gurus" side-by-side.  One of these gurus was Blake Snyder, whose book Save the Cat was recently eviscerated in a Slate article that targeted it as the reason that Hollywood movies suck.

I detest linking to the article, but I need to pull out at least one excerpt.

When Snyder published his book in 2005, it was as if an explosion ripped through Hollywood. The book offered something previous screenplay guru tomes didn’t. Instead of a broad overview of how a screen story fits together, his book broke down the three-act structure into a detailed “beat sheet”: 15 key story “beats”—pivotal events that have to happen—and then gave each of those beats a name and a screenplay page number. Given that each page of a screenplay is expected to equal a minute of film, this makes Snyder’s guide essentially a minute-to-minute movie formula.

The problem I have with blaming Save the Cat for all of this is that there really isn't anything new in that book.  It might be presented differently, but Synder's overall philosophy isn't too dissimilar from storytelling tenants that have been around long before film itself.  So without further ado, I'll turn the floor over to J.J. Patrow:


THE SAME OLD THREE ACTS
By J.J. Patrow

Although good screenwriting isn’t easy, it can be learned through study and practice. That’s what we’re taught to believe. And we must believe it because thousands of people have been inspired to learn the craft, generating a huge market for screenwriting lectures, classes, workshops, instructional videos, and how-to books. It has also generated just as many reader opinions about which screenwriting guru offers the best advice.

Some authors champion a paint-by-the-numbers approach. The “Blake Snyder Beat Sheet” in Save The Cat: The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need by Blake Snyder comes to mind. Other authors counter that step-by-step guides are misguided. In the introduction to The Tools of Screenwriting: A Writer’s Guide to the Craft and Elements of a Screenplay, by David Howard and Edward Mabley, Frank Daniel states that ”…the worst thing a book on screenwriting can do is to instill in the mind of the beginner writer a set of rules, regulations, formulas, prescriptions, and recipes.” (xix) And yet others choose the middle of the road. Andrew Horton writes in his book, Writing the Character Centers Screenplay, that writers should blaze new paths, but still “…pay attention to story and structure and other elements.” (2)

If there’s one reality that all how-to authors seem to agree on, however, it is that there is a saturation of screenplay books, but their work is worth your time and money. It’s special. Maybe this is true. But one should question if new screenwriting books are really fresh, seeing as most of them visit – or rather, revisit – how to construct the same old three-act story.

The generic construction of the “Hollywood Three-Part Screenplay” is fairly straightforward. It doesn’t require too much discussion. I don’t mean to imply that the nuances of screenplay writing are simple, but learning to recognize the essential building blocks of the Hollywood screenplay and their proper order is fairly basic. And this basic knowledge is what most screenplay books seek to impart. The result is that they end up parroting each other. Sure, the average author may bring a more accessible voice, a particular emphasis on character or genre, a unique set of details, or even a set of fresh terms for pre-existing structural components, but the meat of the subject goes unchanged.

Most authors of popular screenwriting books spend a lot of time discussing the three-act structure, which was thoroughly explored by Syd Field in the 1970s. Odds are he inspired them to write a how-to screenwriting book in the first place. And prior to Field there was already a well-documented tradition of the workings of three-act stories, which originated in mythology. These had been discussed for centuries and can be found in the writings of Aristotle to Joseph Campbell. So it is not a stretch to imagine that a lot of what screenwriting books offer is partly a review of earlier works.

To better explore this, it is helpful to visually demonstrate the way certain authors instruct their readers to write screenplays. Each offers an interesting take on storytelling and has plenty to offer, but they are clearly dipping into the same source. Indeed, before someone declares that the “Blake Snyder’s Beat Sheet” is revolutionary, they should read Field or Campbell. Even Snyder suggests this in his introduction.


Aristotle presented the basic three-act structure in Poetics. There is a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Joseph Campbell, having spent a lifetime studying mythology, noted similarities in the story structure of the classic hero journey in A Hero With A Thousand Faces and The Power of Myth. He found that in most mythological stories there was a beginning (the Call to Adventure), a middle (the Road of Trials), and an end (The Return). George Lucas made great use of Campbell’s insights when writing Star Wars. And Stuart Voytilla, in his book Myth and the Movies: Discovering the Mythical Structure of 50 Unforgettable Films, outlined how the components of Campbell’s hero journey applied neatly into many Hollywood films.

Writing in the 1970s, Syd Field defined the essential components of the three-act screenplay as consisting of a set up, followed by a confrontation, and then a resolution. He also added additional story landmarks, such as the inciting incident. Whether he realized it or not, these landmarks fit quite neatly into Campbell’s model.

Blake Snyder, a fan of Campbell and Field, created a “Beat Sheet” that parrots those who came before him, though he uses his own terms. His placement of story landmarks, such as when to “show what needs to be changed,” is a variation on Campbell’s “Call to Adventure” and Field’s introduction points for the story’s “Situation” and “Premise.”

Peter Dunne, author of Emotional Structure: Creating the Story Beneath the Plot, explores the character arc between the key three-act points, which he calls The Beginning: “Life As It Was,” The Middle: “Life Torn Apart,” and the end “Life as it Now.” Although quite detailed, these emotional markers are also in keeping with Campbell.

In his book, The 3rd Act, Drew Yanno explores the end of the film and how it relates to a question posed in the beginning, further complementing the works of his processors. He defines the three acts as the Question, the Debate, and the Answer.


When all the graphs are overlaid there are clearly similarities between each book. 

Unfortunately, following this chart will not guarantee a blockbuster, but it will illustrate a point. Each of these how-to authors is not as different from each other as some might expect. Consider this the next time you read a new screenplay book and, when you sit down to write, remember the words of Robert McKee: “Your work needn’t be modeled after the “well-made” play; rather, it must be well made within the principles that shape our art. Anxious, inexperienced writers obey rules. Rebellious, unschooled writers break rules. Artists master the form.” (Story, 3)

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Note: I've long had problems getting Blogger to display images properly.  For those of you who want these charts in their complete sizes you can download a zip file of them here. 

Please don't let them put Wilfred to sleep

I'm going to ask you guys for a favor. If it is at all within your power, please check out the sitcom WILFRED this Thursday night at 10pm on the FX Network.  I've heard rumblings that the show's low ratings this season have cast doubt on the show's chances for a renewal for a fourth year.  In fact, this week could make all the difference for the show's survival.  If this season truly is the end of the line, then that would be a shame as WILFRED is one of the most unique shows on TV. In fact, it's one of my favorite current shows. (Full disclosure: I'm friends with one of the actors, but I'd be a fan of the show regardless.)

I think of WILFRED as sort of an adult Calvin & Hobbes if Hobbes was a dog - and a Machiavellian sociopath.  Elijah Wood plays Ryan, a former lawyer who starts seeing his neighbor's dog Wilfred (Jason Gann) as a human in a dog suit.  Wilfred has a biting sense of humor and a near omnipotent ability to manipulate a situation to his ends, even when Ryan thinks he's seen through the dog's agenda. Many of Wilfred's schemes involve playing on Ryan's crush on Wilfred's owner Jenna (Fiona Gubelmann), with the dog alternately seeming to help Ryan look good in front of Jenna or often putting him in compromising situations for reasons that suit Wilfred's ends.  After another couple of seasons, TVTropes.com might have to rename "the Xanatos Gambit" to "The Wilfred Gambit."

In three seasons, the show has only begun to explore the question of what Wilfred is and why only Ryan sees him as a man in a dog suit.  Indeed, the most obvious solution would be that Ryan is having some kind of mental breakdown.  Though several episodes have toyed with that possibility, we can't help but notice that Ryan is aware of how crazy it is that he talks to a dog.  Would a truly crazy person be that self-aware?

To be honest, I don't care so much about the eventual reveal of what Wilfred really is.  I enjoy the ambiguity that exists while we are left in the dark.  If Wilfred is a creation of Ryan's mind, it would mean that Ryan is exceptionally good at manipulating situations AND that he needs Wilfred's machinations to manufacture a justification to act out in this way.  If Ryan created Wilfred, it likely came from some need to take control of his life.  Or perhaps, Ryan needs Wilfred's "manipulations" to "force" him to do something that he can't justify doing on his own.  He does something not because he wants to, but because the dog's scheming forces him to.

A little like Son of Sam. Hmmm.

I've forgotten to mention just how funny the show is, in ways both silly and darkly funny.  The show wrings a lot of humor from the cognitive dissonance of seeing a man in a dog suit act in ways familiar to every dog owner.  This particular sequence always reminds me and my wife of our dog.



And then there are the moments of darker humor, where Wilfred recounts being "rescued" from an attic by some nice German men.


Please, if you want to support a TV show with a voice unlike just about any other show on TV, please sample Wilfred.

My process for reacting to feedback

You might have noticed my posts were slightly scarcer over the last couple of weeks.  That's because I've been involved in a rewrite on my latest thriller spec.  Since that has sapped a lot of my creative energy, I thought I'd use the post today to talk a little about my rewriting process.

I have about ten trusted readers.  When I finish a first draft, that screenplay goes out to five of them.  These people are members of my writing group.  Most of them are aspiring writers at various levels of their craft, with a few aspiring producers among them and one director with a feature to his name.  We're all used to eviscerating each other and more importantly - we're prompt about it.  Usually I can count on a group meeting within a week of sending out pages.  It's pretty common to walk out of one of those meetings having gotten a barrage of notes and a sense that you'll never be able to please anyone.  (No meeting is complete until one of our members says dryly, "Is there anything else we can help you with?")

So after that, I retreat to work on my rewrite and then I send it to my second wave of readers.  This group includes a few young pros, many of whom are repped and some who have previously worked as readers.  Their occupations include a VP of development and a director's assistant.  A curious trend emerged with this most recent draft.  The young pros - who have written excellent scripts but haven't read professionally - RAVED about the script and had few major nitpicks.  They saw the script exactly as I did and went on at length about some of the things they loved about it.  Those were the kinds of emails you cherish as a writer because you come away feeling, "Wow! They get it EXACTLY as I intended it."

But from the development VP and the pro reader there was an interesting trend in their notes.  They kept finding things wrong that the pro writers didn't.  Interestingly, they agreed with each other on most of these points (despite the fact these two have never met or communicated.)  Their list of "fixes" was longer, though while they both felt it needed work, their reaction trended positive enough that I knew I was on the right track.  (And in fairness, VP said that this was looking like it could be "your best script yet.")

So what I took from that is that in a lot of ways the script works on its own terms so long as its read by people who totally give themselves over to it.  That's no mean feat, so I was pleased to accomplish that.  However, I cannot ignore that a more "hostile read" would probably uncover more issues.  (There's also the fact that Reader and Dev VP have a better understanding of where the bar is set as they interface with scripts more regularly than the pros.)

Basically, I have to write a script good enough to be loved by people who aren't prepared to love it.  That seems pretty basic, but it's a hard note to follow with wild praise ringing in your ears from people who get it.

So after I finish this rewrite, it'll go back to the first group and I'll use those reactions to gauge if it should be passed on to Group 2 again, or if the script is ready for my "big ticket contacts" - the people I only get one read from.

I like to alternate reads between the two groups because it ensures that at least two drafts will be reacted to with fresh eyes and then on rewrites, there will be more substantive changes for each group to react to since they're alternating drafts.

As I wrap this up, I'll also be starting on a new TV pilot project and also outlining a new horror thriller.  My current script is a low budget thriller that I have designed to be something I could possibly shoot myself, while the horror/thriller is another low budget idea in the vein of what Jason Blum produces. 

After writing a couple "big" scripts, I was ready for a change and I just happened onto two ideas that aimed more for the microbudget side.  I didn't specifically set out to "write to the market," but when an idea comes to you in a genre that happens to be hot, you'd be a fool not to pursue it.