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Movie Reviews

Alita: Battle Angel Review: A Pretty Face WIth Some Robotic Parts

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(Spoiler-free)

As a fan of dystopian stories and Japanese Manga storytelling, I have to say I’m surprised this one managed to sneak up on me like it did. I saw it today, and to get the technicalities out of the way, I have no familiarity with the source material, neither the graphic novels nor the 90s anime. I saw it in 2D, though if 3D is something you’re into, this one probably looks great in that format.

Alita: Battle Angel is set a few hundred years in the future. After great technological and economic advancements allowed us to build great cities in the sky, a great war brought all but one of them crashing back to Earth. Now the elites populating the last floating city of Tiphares lord over the rest of the human race living on the surface, benefitting from their excruciating labor and dumping their garbage down on them. One day, Doctor Ido of Iron City, who specializes in both humans and cyborgs, salvages the head and torso (“core”) of a humanoid cyborg that resembles a teenage girl, whose brain is still alive. He revives and rebuilds her to find that she’s lost her memory, retaining only vague images of combat.

Ido effectively adopts the girl, naming her Alita, and we discover this new world alongside her. The residents and way of life on Tiphares, and its mind-controlling leader Nova, are the stuff of legend and rumor. The only way to get there is to dominate the intense violent game of Motorball. The sport is central to the public consciousness and even the politics of Iron City, which is currently being terrorized by criminals murdering people and dismantling cyborgs for parts as means of gaining an advantage in Motorball, and a ruthless class of bounty hunters enlisted to stop them. From there, Alita makes a lot of dramatic discoveries about the people around her and her own past as she tries to survive this rough new environment and protect those she’s grown to care about.

First of all, as is obvious from the trailer and any material you’ve seen on this one, it’s a visual extravaganza. It definitely delivers on spectacle. Everything looks great. This isn’t surprising considering the people involved. Speaking of which, it would’ve been intriguing to be a fly on the wall and observe the working dynamic between director/ writer Robert Rodriguez and writer/ producer James Cameron, one of whom is famous for making relatively cheap movies that look expensive, and the other for making the most expensive movies ever, leaving an indelible mark on visual storytelling. In light of the 200 million dollar budget, it seems they went more with Cameron’s method; but whatever combination of practical sets, old-fashioned matte paintings, and CGI was employed, it all came out pretty seamless and quite dazzling.

But beyond the look of Iron City, this film’s greatest virtue is in its world-building. From the beginning, this setting feels authentic. It displays not only an impressive sci-fi landscape but a society with numerous embedded cultures. Everything from the citizens’ attitudes and behaviors, to their looks and fashion, to their games and recreational activities, comes off as organic. The world is gritty, raw, and feels lived-in. It’s not merely a backdrop but is part and parcel to the mythology and adds great symmetry and depth to Alita’s universe.

Of course, great world-building will only get you so far. Even the most breath-taking story environment will fall completely flat if certain other narrative cylinders aren’t firing, namely the characters (as evidenced by Ridley Scott’s Prometheus series). Alita’s characters are overall pretty solid. Most everyone fulfills a pertinent dramatic function, making for a nice “family tree” of interconnected players, and they’re well-acted by the excellent cast. Christoph Waltz is great as always. Rosa Salazar gives an excellent performance that really comes through her animated face equipped with Disney Eyes. The latest motion capture technology is really amazing that way. The weakest of the main characters is Alita’s dubiously necessary love interest played by Keean Johnson, the poor man’s Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and I wouldn’t classify him as unbearable. The problem there is more with how he fits into the equation (more on this later). Jennifer Connely and Mahershala Ali do their jobs well in this, but there just isn’t much of a job for either of them to do, and here’s where we run into some trouble.

Alita’s plot falls victim to several of the standard hazards of an adaptation. The filmmakers (perhaps the studios) never seem to want to scale the source material’s story down to manageable proportions for a feature-length film. The M.O. seems to be, “throw in everything from the books that will fit and could possibly be appealing to someone, somewhere.” Mind you, these complications are handled better here than in most adaptations I’ve seen, but there are definitely some plot elements that are underdeveloped. Some of the most noticeable include moments of high drama that flare up spontaneously because it’s the right time for them to happen, extremely close relationships that form very quickly, intriguing interpersonal dynamics that are barely touched-on due to time constraints, and character motivations that change on a dime to accommodate the fast-moving plot. These issues never quite cross the line into absurdity, but it feels like a lot of wasted potential that could have been capitalized on by properly fleshing these things out in the next movie (or cutting them, I guess).

Last, and also least, there are numerous instances of my pet peeve offense: on-the-nose expository dialog. There is a lot to explain, in an unfamiliar setting, but for $200 million, it should be done with a little more style and smoothness than:

  • “It’s a harsh world. The strong prey on the weak down here.”
  • “You are someone very special, not just a teenage girl.”
  • Alita: “And I’m just an insignificant girl.” Hugo: “No, that’s what they want you to think.”
  • “I do not standby in the presence of evil.”

Honestly, the last one sounds like it was taken from the Japanese manga, run through Google Translator, and put right in the script.

So, that’s about it. Is Alita: Battle Angel worth seeing? Absolutely. Worth seeing at full price? Yep, and then some, because seeing it in 3D, multiscreen, supersound, 4DX with moving seats and pies to the face, or whatever can really make this a fun ride. Is it going change your life? Not likely, but it is what it is; a highly enjoyable world to visit for a few hours.

Movie Reviews

Halloween 2018 Review: Murder by Exposition

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(Spoiler-free)

Alright, this review is admittedly late to the party, but there is a method to the madness. I’ll get to it shortly…

First of all, this is a solid sequel and worthy addition to the series. It takes a purist approach by following the groundwork laid in Carpenter’s 1978 genre-creating classic; it doesn’t set arbitrary values for itself like “higher body count” or “more exotic killings,” it doesn’t add extraneous and tangential plot detours to desperately contrive enough story for a new movie, and it doesn’t eat up copious screen time pursuing answers to questions that nobody asked.

All in all, the plot, cinematography, score, and acting effectively elevate the film to such levels that they compensate for some of its lesser qualities and make for an enjoyable watch that’s uniquely worthy of a trip to the theater.

Big deal, you say. That reads like all the other reviews for this movie. So now we come to the reason for this one. There’s a screenwriting elephant in the room that no one seems to be talking about, and I think deserves some attention. Many of the script choices in this movie are highly questionable, and some are just plain weird. Some subplots don’t go anywhere, some “twists” are merely plot contrivances to serve convenient ends, etc. but these are relatively negligible and even forgivable as they tend to fall below the line of suspension of disbelief. My beef with the writing lies elsewhere.

More brutal than the stabs to heart or claw hammers to the skull is the dialog that lands squarely on the nose. And I mean RIGHT on it. Let’s look at one brief exchange from the trailer…

When protagonist Laurie confesses that she hoped spree killer Michael Myers would escape from prison, and she’s asked why; her stunning reply is “so I can kill him.” Now, trailer dialog always entails the caveat that we’re hearing it out of context, so we’re left to think that maybe there’s more to this conversation and it’ll play out much better in its totality. But, no. Like virtually everything from Halloween’s trailers, what we see is what we get.

As a friendly reminder, I liked this movie and Jamie Lee Curtis’ performance in it, but there is no measure for the awfulness of this line. The dramatic punch that the circumstances suggest it’s supposed to have falls miserably flat due to its blatancy, total lack of nuance, and utter failure to do its job of delivering the emotion of the character with a certain eloquent poetry that would never be uttered by a gruff old vigilante speaking of shooting a slasher in the face, but is called for in the name of satisfying storytelling.

In the words of Christopher McQuarrie, “think of what you want to say, and then don’t say it.” Dialog is never just a filmmaker-to-audience conduit for story information. It should be an ornament that adds flavor and style to the film, while covertly imparting exposition under the viewer’s nose. There is no more exigent situation for heeding this advice than this moment from Halloween. Countless preferable responses could have elevated that moment into something like what it was intended to be. Let’s explore a few…

Laurie: Do you know that I prayed every night that he would escape?
Hawkins: What the hell did you do that for?
Laurie: So I can kill him. So I can finish what Dr. Loomis started.

Or

Laurie: Because what he needs can’t be done while he’s locked up.

Or

Laurie: Some animals shouldn’t be caged. They have to be put down.

Or

Laurie: The cops and shrinks don’t know how to deal with him. I do.

Or

Laurie: Because he doesn’t deserve to die of old age.

See? None of these are great. They’re the product of about three minutes of brainstorming, but I’ll stand by any one of them as superior to that black hole of subtlety that made it into the film.

After really harping on that one line, I hate to say that it’s not the least bit rare among this film’s dialog. Every spoken word either serves to explain the plot to us or intimate precisely what the character is thinking, leaving absolutely nothing for us to decipher for ourselves. Need further evidence?

Martin: We’re here to investigate a patient that killed three innocent teenagers on Halloween, 1978. He was shot by his own psychiatrist and taken into custody that night, and has spent the last forty years in captivity.

Laurie: I need to protect my family. You have no security system, Karen.
Karen: Mom, you need help!
Laurie: Evil is real.

Laurie: He is a killer. But he will be killed tonight.

It is certainly true that Loomis had some musing monologues in the original that were borderline clunky (and would have been laughable if not delivered by the likes of Donald Pleasance), but that can be at least partially chalked up to breaking in a new kind of character in a new subgenre; and it doesn’t nearly approach the awkwardness with which the speech in the latest installment comes across.

What’s troubling here is that so many other features of the movie are so good, and this one is so easily fixed with some quick and easy tweaking. Oh well, perhaps this will be addressed in the inevitable sequel(s).

What do you think? How did you find the dialog; and the movie in general? Let us know!

Inspiration

Predator (1987): Like Long Tall Sally… It’s Built Sweet

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This is one of the most accessible and enjoyable story structure breakdowns I’ve ever seen, and his nickname for Shane Black made me laugh out loud! Enjoy!

Movie Reviews

The Predator Review: They Were Shooting In All Directions… and Hit Nothing

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(Spoiler-free)

There’s no need to go over the amount of anticipation that comes with this one, or the fact that comparisons to the first one are unavoidable. Let’s just get into whether it delivers or not…

Like the original, it opens with a Predator ship entering Earth’s orbit and delivering a creature to the surface. But this time, instead of just a quick shot to set up the premise that we’re dealing with an alien, it’s a more convoluted space chase that ends up being a significant setup for a later reveal. In this intro sequence, we get a lot of stuff happening, information thrown at us that we should store for later, and nothing too engaging in any of it. I’m sorry to say, this is an apt microcosm of the entire movie.

We’re soon introduced to protagonist McKenna (Boyd Holbrook), an Army Ranger sniper who is mid-op with his team, when they get attacked by the recently arrived Predator and we’re given another rushed and crammed sequence in which they essentially try to do the first movie in about two minutes or less. McKenna’s team gets wiped out, which he lets us know he’s upset about in a few lines of dialog, but we didn’t get to know them at all, so who cares?

This necessitates McKenna being brought to a secret government lab full of scientists and mercenaries who have been studying the Predators for years, want to maintain their secrecy, and are wondering why the visits are rising in frequency. He is transferred there with a group of combat-hardened misfit military prisoners that will become his new team, and this is where the wisecracks really start flying, the action set pieces start popping off, and one of the greatest flaws of the movie becomes glaringly obvious….

It’s packed with misfires. The humor doesn’t land, the spectacle doesn’t excite, and the characters don’t draw us in. What’s worse is that it’s made blatantly obvious what we’re supposed to be feeling and when, particularly in a few moments that are intended to be especially dramatic, but it just isn’t happening. Like the acquaintance constantly uttering bad jokes and leaving pauses where you’re expected to laugh, but it just isn’t in you.

The 1987 masterpiece got us attached to seven characters effortlessly in a short helicopter ride, with almost no talking among them. Here we’re introduced by a quick exchange of quips and a bit of clunky exposition, which is usually the kind of setup given to expendable fodder, but in this case we’re actually expected to care what happens to them without any proper emotional foundation.

We have McKenna. He’s tough, and everything he does and says reminds you of that. His kid is part of the story (who admittedly manages not to not be too annoying). He’s a genius, and everything he does and says reminds you of that. Moonlight’s Trevante Rhodes is McKenna’s instant best buddy, who has his back, and everything he does and says reminds you of that. Thomas Jane (is wasted) as the crazy guy, and everything he does and says reminds you of that. See a pattern emerging here?

So then we’re onto the main conflict, which involves a Super Predator, because the regular one isn’t formidable enough, more one-liners, explosions, some disturbingly odd-looking CGI, awkward shots (the flat-angle medium shot used to introduce Olivia Munn, the hot, tough lady scientist, is laugh-out-loud-worthy), a lot of plot-convenient occurrences, choices and actions without clear motivations (from humans and extraterrestrials alike), and it all goes by at such breakneck speed that is easily outpaces the audience’s interest.

In the end, we’re left with a wholly unsatisfying mess of a movie, and they also hit us over the head with an asinine politically-charged theme to add insult to injury. However, a few witty digs inspire some chuckles (especially from Keegan-Michael Key), and some actions scenes rise to the level of “that was kinda cool, I guess,” but that’s about as good as it gets here. It’s not a pleasant things to report, but my bleak predictions from the trailer came true, and then some. This does more (or less) than not live up to the hype. It’s likely to disappoint committed fans and newcomers alike.

Screenwriting Issue of the Day

Writer’s Bliss: The Creative Breakthrough

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Rewriting is, by and large, problem-solving. We clip the stuff that isn’t necessary, add the things that are missing, rearrange and refashion the ideas that aren’t being expressed with maximum clarity and effectiveness, and generally engineer a narrative that will hopefully instill in the reader/ audience the same roused fervor that incited us to write it in the first place.

This means a lot of whittling and fiddling. We spend hours contemplating solutions to ideas that aren’t working and sentiments that aren’t coming through. We list the alternatives, draw out mind maps, watch or read the greats, stare at the wall, etc. Maybe we get flustered and step away to reorganize the DVD collection, clean the bathroom, or think about starting another script. It’s a fight to push through all this resistance and commit to the trial and error of making those needed alterations and get the story going in a more cohesive and engaging direction.

I think the best of us revel in this process, regardless of the individual’s workflow. As exhausting as it is, the wherewithal to inflict this mental, emotional, and intellectual self-torture on a regular basis separates those who could have a career and those who become a statistic.

BUT…

There are also those moments that come along and remind us why we do it, and why we fancy this more than anything else. Those precious nuggets that make the process – not only not miserable – but a great pleasure in itself. The pinnacle of these is the creative breakthrough.

This is a different animal from the typical hard-won story fix that materializes from the aforementioned grind. These are those ideas that spring forth, maybe as a result of some serious brainstorming, perhaps after spending some much-needed time away from the piece, or most intriguing of all, without warning while we’re focused on something else. And they have some amazing attributes that truly set them apart…

They’re simple: So many story logic issues, overwritten tangents, flat sequences, disagreements between character or plot actions, etc. necessitate a bunch of explanatory fluff as a vain attempt to square those circles. When a breakthrough hits, it irons things out, streamlines the operation, obliterates the anomalies (and the fluff right along with them), leaving action and dialog that are more intuitive, coherent, visual, and concise, which brings me to my next point…

They’re economical: Early drafts (mine, anyway) carry a compulsion to explain every last feeling, motivation, gesture, and tick to combat the bugbear of “they won’t get it.” What’s left is a 145-page eulogy to the human imagination. But after one of these amazing boosts of inspiration, we’re left with a more intriguing sequence, with more for the reader to decipher, at a lower page count. It’s a fantastic moment for a fledgling writer when the true meaning of “say more with less” really hits home.

And coolest of all…

They fix other issues: This is the magic ingredient that let’s us know we’re really onto something. We get one idea out of the crapper and it touches on other story elements that were either missing or not doing their job, and sets off a chain reaction of plot repair.

I’ll use this example of a recent breakthrough I’ve had to illustrate my point:

Problem: I have a character in my script, a friend of a friend to the protagonist, who is a doctor, and ultimately ends up giving our hero the help he needs to fight his ailment, complete his arc, and achieve his goal. Since this doctor is a relatively small (but important) supporting character, she seemed to just show up when needed, do exactly what was required to progress the narrative, then disappear, rinse and repeat. So she wasn’t a character at all, but a flimsy plot device. I had developed her relationship with the hero’s friend, but the dynamic between her and the hero was an afterthought, and it showed. In trying to round her character out, I had fabricated a bunch of plot interruptions where he had to visit her for help, and attempted to justify it with convoluted discussions and circumstances.

Breakthrough: Turn her against the protagonist. Make her hate him and resist helping him at every turn.

Once I made this change, it did so much to straighten out my story. Now this character wouldn’t piss on him if he were on fire. Their interactions have become terse, conflict-laden, and they keep things moving, because they come up much more organically as the consequences of various accidents and calamities that befall the main character, and neither of them is happy about it. These new hardships and obstacles subject him to a great deal more suffering through the middle of the movie, creating a much more interesting series of events.

Without my initially realizing it, this also filled in an element that was missing before. The main conflict of the piece arises from a mistake made by the protagonist, stemming from his main flaw. While a sense of guilt slowly builds in him throughout, there was no one to hold up a mirror to him, force him to take a hard look at himself, put him at a dramatic low, and make him realize he needs to change. But now there is. This character now dovetails so nicely into this task, it seems as if I’d planned it for her from the beginning.

Oh, and as a casual aside, she now feels like a real person that has a rightful purpose in the film. Her contentiousness toward the hero, contrasted with her protective affection for the friend, adds a realistic complexity to her that makes her someone the audience would (hopefully) like to get to know. It also allowed for a much-needed arc for their relationship, in that (you may have guessed) he manages to earn her respect and a certain amicable understanding develops between them. This, of course, also added another layer to him.

This kind of beneficial butterfly effect from one snap flash of inspiration can’t be expected to happen all the time. Perhaps even the opportunities for them recede over time as greater experience precludes one from leaving such gaping chasms in the story that require this type of drastic solution. Whatever the case, these occasions bring a true thrill to someone in the early stages of exploring their creativity.

How about you? Has something like this happened to you? What have been the biggest leaps, bounds, and setbacks in your process? Let us know below!

Screenwriting Issue of the Day

Don’t Cross the Themes!

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There’s no point in writing if you have nothing to say. (It sounds self-evident, but a quick glance around at what’s being produced these days reveals that this mantra doesn’t stop a lot of aimless schlock from slipping through the cracks. Anyway, pre-success bitterness aside, let’s get into this…)

It’s all about the theme. What do you, as a writer, have to say to the rest of us about what we’re doing wrong (or right, but usually wrong)? Perhaps focusing on this aspect of the craft, rather than “ya know what would make a really cool movie?!…”is the mark of a mature writer. Maybe the ideal balance is “I believe I have a new take on this or that idea, and ya know what would be a really cool way to state it?!…”

There’s a lot of debate about where theme should rightfully come from. Is it the proper starting point of the whole process, or is it more creatively organic to just start vomiting narrative chunks and let the theme naturally unfold and present itself when everyone, especially the writer, least expects it? We all know the correct answer here, right? Who cares? The all-time greats are all over the map on this one, so there could never be a definitive key to how and why the theme(s) should emerge. I think the usefulness of this debate lies in the mind of the individual writer, as an introspective exercise.

But how about this…

As I’m rewriting and contemplating what comes out, I’m coming across numerous threads that point to multiple themes, on varying levels of complexity and consequentialism. This is bound to happen to some degree, but if I remain a little hazy as to whether my story is about my protagonist’s need to grow up and become self-reliant, the obligation we all have to fight an evil despotic force rather than wallow in apathy, or the idea that risking one’s life for someone they love is not a sacrifice at all, then is this an indicator of a confused and convoluted story in desperate need of being pared down?

Countless classic stories have multiple intertwined themes, but is it more than a new writer can chew? Is the thematic volume greater than the scope of my script? Is the effectiveness of one of my underlying statements undermined by interference from the others?

If all the themes are to stay in, how are they to be managed? I have some semi-educated guesses about this one:

  • There’s seems to be a natural hierarchy that’s conducive to their harmonious execution, with one over-arching theme that the others should serve in some way, or at least be subordinate to.
  • Multiple themes seem to work better when distributed over the story, residing within the choices and actions of different characters in separate story threads.
  • It feels ill-conceived to have a theme pop up once, never to be seen or heard from again. Each one should be interlaced through a substantial segment of the plot.
  • And what seems most important is that they compliment each other philosophically, so I shouldn’t cram “no man is an island” in the same yarn as “you can only rely on yourself,” even though they could each work quite well on their own.

Those were easy enough to write, but I’m still working on developing the sense to know if I’m following them. Also still struggling with this question: Is it possible to have “too much theme” and become preachy?

So what do you think? How do you manage the themes in your writing, and how many is too many? Let us know below!

My Story Theories

Halloween and Predator 2018: The Revisionist Sequel

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In an era totally inundated with recycled cinema, it’s rare to see something new. Everything is a remake, reboot, adaptation, prequel, spinoff, or sequel. There are some exceptions to be sure, but if you’re looking at the box office headliners, pre-existing property is king.

This creates a host of problems for writers, I would imagine. Introducing a wholly original concept must be like pushing a freight train up a ski slope, getting a job on board one of the established franchises must come packaged with a laundry list of “world rules” that must be obeyed, and the more time-honored and entrenched the mythology is, the harder it must get to color within those lines.

But, with the new installments of both the Halloween and Predator series arriving this year, we have a type of specimen. These are sequels (not soft reboots, hard reboots, or re-imaginings) that effectively cancel out all other sequels in the series and pick up after part one, rerouting the mythological trajectory from that point.

Now we could think of this one of two ways – the cynical tack would be to call it just another excuse to churn out more sequels hoping to recover lost fans after some lackluster installments; or we could be a bit more optimistic and view it as an opportunity to repair a broken and derailed franchise, possibly recapturing some of the magic that made it a successful idea in the first place.

Let’s see what we can put together about these two approaches from the trailers:

Well, this looks awesome to me. Halloween (1978) is credited by many as the original slasher film, establishing a template that would be duplicated for decades to come. The strengths of this film include the dark and mysterious nature of stoic killing machine Michael Myers, the pure heroism of his vigilante psychiatrist Dr. Loomis, and the gritty, suspenseful unfolding of this simple (that theme of simplicity is going to creep up again and again in this post) narrative to an open, yet satisfying, climax.

The rest of the series has had its ups and downs, mostly following the law of diminishing returns, and has never reached the storytelling heights of the first.

If this trailer is any indication, the new movie looks to be a return to form, with some tasteful new elements added. The story seems fairly straightforward. Michael escapes captivity again, after his killer instincts have been jogged by memories of his Halloween massacre forty years ago, and he returns to his hometown to repeat it. Jamie Lee Curtis is back as Laurie, “the one who got away,” and he’s not going to find her the screaming teenager he remembers, but a woman who has prepared and armed herself to the teeth in anticipation of his return. She looks to be hunting him, suggesting that she’ll take over where the late Dr. Loomis left off, as the hero of the piece.

But what’s also interesting is what we don’t see. There don’t seem to be any plot detours to answer questions that nobody asked. Is Michael possessed by the devil? Is he a surrogate under the trance of an evil cult? Is it just an advanced form of psychopathy? It appears, and I hope I’m right, that the filmmakers have given the proper answer to these questions, which is: who cares? Discovering the source and impulse behind Michael’s homicidal drive could only serve to disappoint and suck the unease and mystery out of his actions. Inquiries like this solely serve to complicate the plot, flooding it with mind-numbing exposition, taking the story in directions we don’t want to see it go, and twisting the dramatic question away from what it should be: how do we stop him?

Writers David Gordon Green and Danny McBride(!) have expressed their intentions to get back to the simple charm that made the original an enduring classic, and the first trailer gives us no reason to doubt their word.

Now, on to some not-so-good news…

What in the world is going on here? Remember that magic word I used earlier, simplicity? Yeah, not seeing any of that in this one.

Predator (1987) is a masterclass in the seamless, complimentary fusion of genres. Very few “monsters vs. soldiers” movies manage to come off as anything above the level of farce, but Predator is a cinematic high water mark in numerous ways. The characters are extremely well developed in record time, have fantastic chemistry, and manage to get us on their side despite being tongue-in-cheek and borderline cartoonish. The plotting and structure are top-notch, dialing up the tension and suspense while keeping the creature hidden and mysterious until the end of Act Two, just before the ultimate showdown to decide who is the hunter and who is the prey.

So how about where it went from there? Predator 2 (1990), while an unjustly underrated sequel, drifts a little too far into camp and away from the suspense and subtlety of the first one. Predators (2010) pays a great deal of respect to the original, referencing it nearly every minute, and it has some solid acting and characterization, but it introduces some unnecessary complications to the hunter versus prey survival dynamic, like bizarre blood feuds between multiple Predator species and odd spontaneous alliances between Predators and people. The Alien vs. Predator crossovers are abysmal wastes of great subject matter potential. So, just as with Halloween, there were some highs and lows, but the tone and feel of what made the original so great have never returned.

I’m not so optimistic here because, unlike Halloween, the latest Predator entry doesn’t show any intention to get back to its proven roots. In the total span of two and a half minutes of trailer, we have…

– A kid in the suburbs playing with Predator tech (remote-controlling the ship? surely not). Exactly what I want to see in a Predator movie. The only thing better than suburban kids, is suburban kids that significantly affect the plot by accident. Sci-Fi action monster movies without kiddie shenanigans in them are so boring!

– Interrogations and implied coverups/shadiness by government agents. If this goes on for any longer than one scene, just to get the plot going, it’s going to get old real quick. But I guess a story without stuffy guys in suits saying cryptic things to each other behind a one-way mirror would be so boring!

– Scientists talking about hybridization/Multiple Predator Species again, now including a giant/Upgraded Predator tech Sigh. Why do we need these things? The initial Predator was big, strong, armored, nearly invisible much of the time, and had weapons technology unheard-of on Earth back in 1987. All this new stuff seems to be there in order to pave the way for some flashy, lifeless action set pieces, interlaced with hyper-technical exposition, which is always a lot of fun. Maybe we’ll get really lucky and all this will necessitate some convoluted way that they have to be killed. Because, you know, being resourceful and outsmarting them, as the culmination of an engaging character/story arc would be so boring!

I understand that a sequel necessarily entails expanding the universe to some extent, but it becomes apparent very quickly whether the priority was what would serve the story or what would “look cool.” And I see a lot of “cool” stuff going on here.

Now nothing would make me happier than to have to eat these words later this year, because this movie turned out to be awesome. I love the original Predator, I’m a fan of Shane Black, and I’m totally on board with doing a revisionist sequel to it. But I gotta call it like a I see it. I just hope the full movie is greater than the sum of these trailers’ parts.

Well, there you go. Two noteworthy upcoming revisionist sequels. There’s also one in the works for the Terminator world! What others have you heard about? Were there earlier ones that I missed? What do you think of revisionist sequels? Let us know below!

Screenwriting Issue of the Day

Moving Forward With Backstory?

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A screenplay is not a novel, right? Especially for us spec (unpaid until and unless someone likes your work) screenwriters, page count is a huge consideration. While many of the current top-earners at the box office are running well over two hours, we’re still hammered with the notion that 120 pages (at one page per minute of screen time) is too long. 110 is better. Under 100 is ideal.

So, after we’ve strived to keep the description terse and make the dialog lean and to-the-point, comes the brutal rewrite step of “killing your darlings,” “love cutting,” whatever cutesy phrase you want to use. It’s time to remove everything that isn’t absolutely crucial to getting the story across. This puts a lot of pieces on the chopping block, and according to many, one of the first things to go should be extraneous backstory, which frequently shakes out to mean – any backstory at all.

Backstory is the childhood trauma that made it impossible for her to trust anyone. It’s the toy his father gave him at age 5 that he would kill to hold on to. It’s that “thing” that happened in the war. It’s the “what” from the past that supplies the “why” in the present. And therein lies the problem. Its purpose is to tell the audience something, which we should always avoid in favor of showing them. (Like in a flashback? Come on, get serious.) And what’s worse, it’s telling something that’s outside the story’s timeline. Can you hear the guillotine dropping?

It’s said that backstory is essential knowledge for the writer, in properly fleshing out the characters before the writing begins, but that’s largely where its usefulness ends. Little if any of it should make it into the actual script. The character’s traits guide his/her/its actions, which drive the plot, which tells the story, or something like that.

So, I’m thinking that backstory should only creep in to plug any logic holes about why a character is taking certain actions, and only if leaving it out would render the character under-developed and lead the reader/audience to start asking those horrible “why would they…” questions. But just where is that line of necessity?

Is the fact that there’s a certain burning question on the audience’s mind about the origins of certain relationships, attitudes, and current happenings enough to justify the inclusion of slivers of backstory? What if these characters are in a peculiar situation, doing and saying unusual things, and something in their collective past will explain it all? Is such curiosity a handy, if a little sadistic (which I’m not against) tool to keep them engaged in the story? Or will it just be distracting and frustrating?

I know we should never aim to answer every question and tie up every loose end, but I’m wondering if too much is left unsaid about how these people got to where they are, and I wonder if a little more background is necessary to get the audience emotionally involved in what they see happening in the present.

Anyway, I’m about to send it out for the second round of notes, and I’ll let them be my guide. For now I’m sticking with convention and erring on the side of omission, for the sake of my instincts and my page count. If I’m getting consistent feedback from multiple sources demanding answers the the same chasms of information, I’ll sprinkle some more in there.

What do you think? How much backstory should go in there, and how much should be withheld? And how much do specific factors like genre, style, and idiosyncrasy play a role in this? Let me know below!

Inspiration

Tarantino’s Writing Process!

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Love him or hate him, this guy is one of the most influential screenwriters living today. This is the best peek at his process I’ve ever seen.

Book Reviews

Review: Writing for Emotional Impact by Karl Iglesias

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We as new screenwriters are filled to the brim with questions about how to do it “right.” Does my structure dovetail perfectly into the standard template? Do I have enough white space? Do I need this supporting character? How much back story is necessary for the protag’s mother?

As I learn more and more, and look back at my journey thus far, I find I’ve spent a lot of time asking the wrong questions. My greatest leaps in knowledge and craft have come when I made some major course correction regarding my approach to the writing process. Lately I’ve been lucky to experience several of these thanks to Karl Iglesias‘ Writing for emotional impact : advanced dramatic techniques to attract, engage, and fascinate the reader from beginning to end.

If you’re someone who’s leafed all through the big-name how-to classics, and seemingly learned everything there is to know about story structure, character profiles, plot and subplot mapping, and genre conventions, then you’re exactly who this book was written for! It comes at the whole paradigm from a fresh new angle that’s the creative equivalent of nine hours’ sleep followed by a hot oil massage.

Right out of the gate, Iglesias‘ focus is on the step where the screenwriting rubber meets the road, the emotional effect of the script. Yeah, that’s not a mistake, and you read it right. I meant the script. The point is emphasized that, while it’s a blueprint for an eventual movie, the critical point in the process for us is how the words on the page strike that initial gatekeeper, the (probably assistant or intern to) the producer/ studio head/ financier/ whoever, and sway his/ her decision about whether it’s worthy of getting off the ground in the first place. It’s not good enough to spout, “Just wait till you see it on screen. It’ll knock your socks off!” It’s unlikely to get that far if the read was a lifeless chore to that first reader. His or hers are the socks that must be jettisoned. Pretty insightful perspective, huh? Maybe that revelation alone is worth the price of admission. But we’re just getting started here. The meat of the book consists of telling us how to do it.

As a script reader himself, Iglesias offers the candid inside word on their circumstances, mindset, approach and visceral reactions (which are the reactions that count) when they read our work. He then proceeds to lay out the emotional triggers that are tripped by the best of the best scripts, and how we may achieve them in our own writing.

In all of your reading, podcasts, webinars, seminars, courses, and meet-up groups; how much attention have you really placed on how your work will make the reader feel? What about how that will interact with the characters’ emotions? Do you know which emotional reactions are the most gripping and memorable, and will get your script noticed? Did you know that the simplest of edits and alterations can transform an empty, throw-away beat into something super-engaging that keeps them turning pages? Have you ever approached your writing or editing with these things in mind? This is what you’re going to get from this book.

Whether starting from the initial spark of an idea, or slogging through the rewrite process, there seems to be a certain hierarchy of script writing factors that, if followed in order of importance, can provide an extremely useful, time and grief-saving workflow for building or rebuilding your story. Iglesias’ book is laid out in an optimal flow for not only readability, but workability. It starts with the most broad strokes such as concept and overall story, then filters down to the later-stage fine-tuning of description, dialog, etc. It’s not something to be read, absorbed, and shelved. If you’re really serious, it’ll serve as a manual and roadmap, constantly at your side as you write.

Needless to say, I can’t recommend this book enough. My only caveat would be that, as the subtitle indicates, these are advanced techniques, and meant to be broached once you have a working understanding of the screenwriting basics. So, while I might (and only might) not make this my first book on the craft, my collection would be severely lacking without it.