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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.

Screenwriting Issue of the Day

The Rewrite Workflow Labyrinth

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First, the good news: I’ve reached a magical milestone in my rewrite. I’ve completed a draft that, if a deadline were imposed on me today, I could submit without utter shame and embarrassment (only predominant shame and embarrassment).

This comes after a protracted slog to align the plot of my story to the point where a reader could get from Fade In to Fade Out, and and have a fairly clear sense of what had happened. The disposable henchmen have consistent names and actions despite their relative unimportance, the events of one scene don’t obviously counteract or undermine those of a previous one, the payoffs are more or less set up and vice versa, and the main characters are somehow different at the end than they were in the beginning as a result of what’s happened to them. (Of course, this is according to my own judgement of my own work. Am I right? That’s for the next guy to decide in the upcoming phase: getting external feedback.)

As I reach this point of the game, a lesson emerges that I believe will be of extreme importance to my career: How could I have gotten here sooner? What if I were on, say, a realistic professional screenwriting timeline? I’d need to come to these answers and solutions that I’ve pored over for months and months in a matter of weeks.

My process thus far has worked like this: write a draft, find a problem, brainstorm some solutions, mull it over, do other stuff while continuing to mull it over, brainstorm some more solutions, get inspired, rewrite the scene. Now, this has been a wonderful experience of exploring and cultivating my creative inspiration, but it’s not gonna cut in a business of strict, merciless deadlines. So…

This is the tough part when it comes to formulating some kind of regular streamlined system for working out these issues: it seems to be a highly subjective element. I’ve delved into many writing books and a few courses, and I’m afraid the magic bullet isn’t in there. While they do an awesome job getting us acquainted with structure, theme, characters, and all the stuff that makes up the initial steps of deciding what to write, banging out the first draft, and some very broad-stroke rewrite guidelines, they don’t quite get us to where we can confidently and consistently tackle and eliminate more intricate story problems with ease. I think the reason for this is that there is no magic bullet. There are likely as many workable processes for this as there are professional writers.

However, there’s more good news, maybe. I have no doubt I’ll be faster on my next script purely from some lessons learned on this one, even if I didn’t change anything about my process. Ironically, it seems that it’ll just take time and patience to get faster. But more importantly, perhaps the mere identification of this as a screenwriting puzzle to solve is a crucial first step. This awareness and the desire to work out an efficient scheme to put out the best material I can in short order should put me on the right track to improve this facet of my writing. After all, what else can I do about it?

How about you? What’s your rewriting system? What’s the big, obvious answer that I’m missing? Let me know below!

Screenwriting Issue of the Day

Too Many Steps?

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A movie is a story, and a story is a journey, right? We (usually) want to relate to a hero on a quest to accomplish something. We want to see the struggles, the triumphs, the defeats, the

levities, the tragedies, and the breakthroughs that befall our hero along every step of the odyssey. Well, surely not every step. And here

in lies today’s issue…

Am I including too many incremental nudges toward

the end game, and bogging down my plot?

There’s a fine line between showing what’s necessary, so as not to leave logic gaps and have the audience scratching their collective head, wondering how point A lead to this point C, without the necessary point B (and maybe also wondering why bother to continue reading/ watching); and slogging through mindless and unessential details, painstakingly and pitifully trying to address every last doubt about the story’s logical credibility and plead with the audience, “It all makes sense, I promise! Please like me, and my story!”

I’m just not sure where that line is…

Do we need to see the discovery, analysis, and follow-up of EVERY single clue in the course of the investigation?  Surely some can be implied, or presented in retrospective dialog (without being overly-expository, of course), but which ones? Where’s that threshold of relevance that tells me if it should be shown or referenced?

I’m going through my scenes, and attempting to elevate the drama in each of them to ensure that every moment matters, and I can’t help but question whether a few of them should just go. I know some schools of thought say that as soon as the question enters your mind, cut it; but I’m not so sure my instincts are honed to that level.

On this pass, my emphasis will be on making sure something (somewhat) vital is introduced into the story at each turn that we actually see (read). And, for now, I’m pretty much leaving it all in, because…

This puppy is almost ready for another set of eyes to scour it for faults. I’ll be trusting in that step to solve some of the aforementioned riddles. I’m just hoping for some sweet, sweet consistency in the notes, particularly about issues like this one. If three people are telling me that we don’t need to see the helpful rent-a-car clerk expounding that one suspicious transaction, then I’ll have my answer.

Anyway, your thoughts? Let me know below!

Book Reviews

Review: How to Kick Writer’s Block in the @$% by Michael Rogan

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Thus far, I’ve never really been a sufferer of writer’s block. No, my main hangups could be better described as your garden-variety procrastination and mild resistance (blowing off writing to clean the house, clear out my inbox, watch the barking cat video one more time, etc.). But, I’m never one to pass up any opportunity to learn something about my chosen craft, especially from a source I can count on for accessible, down-and-dirty, practical, and extremely useful content. That source is Michael Rogan. (He’s also one of the most qualified human beings on the planet to hash out the niceties of writer’s block – more on this below.)

Michael is the Head Hancho Publisher over at ScriptBully, a writing consultation company that specializes in cutting straight to the chase in assisting screenwriters at every level move their careers forward (or at least nudge ’em out of a standstill). They’ve got it all – online courses, seminars, consultation services, and plenty of sweet books. The resources tackle a wide range of screenwriting angles, from devising and refining your initial idea for a movie, to the pure nuts-and-bolts formatting of the script.

So, I was excited to hear about the newest installment, How to Kick Writer’s Block in the @$%, and jumped at the chance to pick up a copy.  As usual, this volume doesn’t disappoint.

Michael expounds in his usual style of keeping it terse and to-the-point, but interlacing the material with surprising depth. There are also plenty of humorous quips along the way, keeping it light and enjoyable. He starts with a brief overview of the physiological/ psychological causes of writer’s block, without getting overly technical and losing the reader. Then, we’re off to the races…

What’s offered is a wealth of tools to throw in the box, for aspects such as maintaining mental focus, keeping a diligent writing schedule, maximizing your output, seeing projects through to the end, and most importantly – enjoying the process!

I’m new to these exercises, but I can tell you I’ve already incorporated a few of them (one of which is being accomplished right now) and I believe they’ll have a great impact, not only on my results, but on my writing experience overall. They’re simple, immediately integrable, and the benefits are often readily apparent. They consist of creating the optimum physical, mental, emotional, and logistical conditions to elevate your writing workflow. Nothing is crammed down your throat. The option is left entirely to you to pick, choose, and customize the tips to suit your purposes.

Last, and possibly least, depending on your outlook; Michael is especially credible on this issue, having suffered through a six-year bout with writer’s block. As an epilogue, he includes the excruciating blow-by-blow account of how it happened and how he came out a professional writer on the other side. It’s a fascinating and, for me, oddly comforting story that really puts things into perspective.

If you’re a writer of any variety (this isn’t only for the “screen-types”), this book will serve as an enjoyable read and invaluable resource. You will certainly not regret picking it up. And you can’t beat the price!