NotitiesSave the Cat!
Blake Snyder
"Save the Cat!" is een boek over screenwriting dat de noodzaak benadrukt voor schrijvers om hun helden sympathiek te maken door hen in te voeren met een "Save the Cat"-moment. Het biedt praktische tips en een structuur (de Blake Snyder Beat Sheet) om verhalen effectief op te bouwen, met de focus op het creëren van conflicten en emotionele diepgang. Het boek benadrukt het belang van een sterke logline en de ontwikkeling van personages.
Advice like: "Follow your heart!" and "Be true to your vision!" is fine if you're in therapy. Me? I really want to improve my odds. (Page 8)
So why another screenwriting book? Because the others I've seen don't say it like it is, and don't give the reader the tools to attain success in the field. And on top of that, they often serve the writer of the book more than the reader. I personally don't want a career teaching screenplay writing courses; I just want to pass along what I know. (Page 9)
I don't like the Lara Croft character. Why would I? She's cold and humorless. And while that's fine in the solitary world of video games and comics, it doesn't make me want to leave my home to go see the movie. The people who produced this film think they can get you to like her by making her "cool." This is what amounts to "character development" in au currant movies-. "She drives a cool car." That's someone's idea of how to create a winning hero. Well, folks, I don't care about how "cool" it is, this isn't going to work. Why? Because liking the person we go on a journey with is the single most important element in drawing us into the story. Which brings us to the title of this book: Save the Cat! Save the what? I call it the "Save the Gat" scene. They don't put it into movies anymore. And it's basic. It's the scene where we meet the hero and the hero does something—like saving a cat—that defines who he is and makes us, the audience, like him. (Page 10)
But what's it about ? If you can't answer that question, you know it pretty quickly. If what the movie is about isn't clear from the poster and the title, what are you going to say to describe it? (Page 13)
I want you to do something daring. I want you to forget all about your screenplay for now, the cool scenes that are bursting forth in your imagination, the soundtrack, and the stars you KNOW would be interested in being in it. Forget all that. And concentrate on writing one sentence. One line. Because if you can learn how to tell me "What is it?" better, faster, and with more creativity, you'll keep me interested. (Page 15)
The number one thing a good logline must have, the single most important element, is: irony. (Page 17)
What Colby identified is the fact that a good logline must be emotionally intriguing, like an itch you have to scratch. (Page 17)
The second most important element that a good logline has is that you must be able to see a whole movie in it. (Page 18)
This is why "fish-out-of-water" stories are so popular: You can see the potential fireworks of one type of person being thrust into a world outside his ken. In that one set-up line a whole story blooms with possibilities. (Page 18)
Title and logline are, in fact, the one-two punch, and a good combo never fails to knock me out. Like the irony in a good logline, a great title must have irony and tell the tale. (Page 20)
One of the key ingredients in a good title, however, is that it must be the headline of the story. (Page 20)
I admit that often I have come up with the title first and made the story match. (Page 21)
To be a screenwriter is to deal with an ongoing tug of war between breathtaking megalomania and insecurity so deep it takes years of therapy just to be able to say "I'm a writer" out loud. (Page 21)
The best thing about what this screenwriter discovered is that he saved everybody, all down the line, a whole lot of money and trouble. Can you imagine trying to do these kinds of logline fixes during postproduction? It's a little late by then. Before anyone spent a dime, using only paper, pencil, and his own wits, he did everyone's job for them. He not only made it easier for the guy with the newspaper to pitch to his friends, but he gave them a better story once they got to the movie theater. All because he had given his project a better "What is it?" (Page 22)
I always spill my guts when it comes to discussing what I'm working on, because: a. I have no fear that anyone will steal my idea (and anyone who has that fear is an amateur) and... b. You find out more about your movie by talking to people one-on-one than having them read it. (Page 23)
This kind of test marketing is not only a great way to meet people, it's the only way to know what you've got. And a "pitchee" who is thinking about being somewhere else is the perfect subject. If you can get his attention, if you can keep his attention, and if he wants to know more about the story you're telling, you've really got a good movie idea. (Page 24)
To get and keep that stranger's attention, you're going to have to figure out a way to present a compelling "What is it?" that does mean something to him. Or you're going to be wasting your time. There are a lot more strangers than friends buying tickets to movies. No matter who is encouraging you on the friend side of your life, it's the strangers you really need to impress. (Page 24)
The job of the screenwriter, especially one writing on spec, must include consideration for everyone all along the way, from agent to producer to the studio exec who decides what gets made. And that job starts with that question: "What is it?" (Page 26)
In order to better create a good "What is it?" the spec screenwriter must be able to tell a good one-line or logline—a one-or two-sentence grabber that tells us everything. It must satisfy four basic elements to be effective: 1. Irony. It must be in some way ironic and emotionally involving—a dramatic situation that is like an itch you have to scratch. 2. A compelling mental picture. It must bloom in your mind when you hear it. A whole movie must be implied, often including a time frame. 3. Audience and cost. It must demarcate the tone, the target audience, and the sense of cost, so buyers will know if it can make a profit. 4. A killer title. The one-two punch of a good logline must include a great title, one that "says what it is" and does so in a clever way. (Page 26)
A screenwriter's daily conundrum is how to avoid cliche. You can be near the cliche, you can dance around it, you can run right up to it and almost embrace it. But at the last second you must turn away. You must give it a twist. (Page 29)
Movies are intricately made emotion machines. (Page 30)
I'm holding you back because before you start writing I want you to think a little bit about the question after "What is it?"—and that's "What is it... most like?" (Page 31)
The reason categorizing your movie is a good idea is that it's important for you, the screenwriter, to know what type of movie you're writing. (Page 31)
A hero goes "on the road" in search of one thing and winds up discovering something else—himself. (Page 35)
Like the twists of any story, the milestones of The Golden Fleece are the people and incidents that our hero or heroes encounter along the way. (Page 35)
The theme of every Golden Fleece movie is internal growth; how the incidents affect the hero is, in fact, the plot. It is the way we know that we are truly making forward progress—it's not the mileage we're racking up that makes a good Golden Fleece, it's the way the hero changes as he goes. And forcing those milestones to mean something to the hero is your job. (Page 35)
It's not the incidents, it's what the hero learns about himself from those incidents that makes the story work. (Page 36)
Very often the mission becomes secondary to other, more personal, discoveries; the twists and turns of the plot are suddenly less important than the meaning derived from the heist, as Ocean's Eleven, The Dirty Dozen, and The Magnificent Seven prove. (Page 36)
If it's a comeuppance tale version of Out of the Bottle, then the opposite set-up is applied. Here's a guy or gal who needs a swift kick in the behind. And yet, there must be something redeemable about them. This is a little trickier to pull off and must include a Save the Cat scene at the outset, one where we know that even though this guy or gal is a jerk, there is something in them that's worth saving. (Page 38)
DUDE WITH A PROBLEM This genre is defined by the phrase: "An ordinary guy finds himself in extraordinary circumstances." And when you think about it, it's another of the most popular, most primal situations we can imagine for ourselves. (Page 39)
DUDE WITH A PROBLEM This genre is defined by the phrase: "An ordinary guy finds himself in extraordinary circumstances." And when you think about it, it's another of the most popular, most primal situations we can imagine for ourselves. All of us consider ourselves to be an ordinary guy or gal, and thus we are drawn into sympathetic alignment with the hero of this type of tale from the get-go. (Page 39)
These, my friends, are problems. Big, primal problems. So how are you, the ordinary guy, going to handle them? (Page 39)
Like Monster in the House, this genre also has two very simple working parts: a dude, meaning an average guy or gal just like ourselves. And a problem: something that this average guy must dig deep inside himself to conquer. (Page 39)
Whether our hero is skilled or not, it's the relative size of the challenge that makes these stories work. And one rule of thumb is: The badder the bad guy, the greater the heroics. So make the bad guy as bad as possible—always!—for the bigger the problem, the greater the odds for our dude to overcome. (Page 40)
RITES OF PASSAGE Remember the time you were awkwardly going through puberty and that cute girl you had a crush on didn't know you were alive? Remember that birthday party when you turned 40 and your husband came to you and asked for a divorce? These painful examples of life transition resonate with us because we have all, to a greater or lesser degree, gone through them. (Page 40)
they all work because stories of "me and my best friend" will always resonate. (Page 42)
The secret of a good buddy movie is that it is actually a love story in disguise. And, likewise, all love stories are just buddy movies with the potential for sex. Bringing Up Baby, Pat and Mike, Woman of the Year, Two Weeks Notice, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days are—genre-wise—just sophisticated Laurel and Hardy movies where one of the buddies is wearing a skirt. And yet the rules for these, drama or comedy, sex or no sex, are the same. At first the "buddies" hate each other. (Where would they have to go if they didn't?) But their adventure together brings out the fact that they need each other; they are, in essence, incomplete halves of a whole. And realizing this leads to even more conflict. Who can tolerate needing anybody? (Page 42)
It's just two people who can't stand the fact that they don't live as well without each other, who will have to surrender their egos to win. And when the final curtain comes down, they have done just that. (Page 42)
WHYDUNIT We all know that evil lurks in the hearts of men. Greed happens. Murder happens. And unseen evildoers are responsible for it all. But the "who" is never as interesting as the "why." Unlike the Golden Fleece, a good Whydunit isn't about the hero changing, it's about the audience discovering something about human nature they did not think was possible before the "crime" was committed and the "case" began. (Page 43)
THE FOOL TRIUMPHANT The "Fool" is an important character in myth and legend and has been forever. On the outside, he's just the Village Idiot, but further examination reveals him to be the wisest among us. (Page 44)
The operating principal of "The Fool Triumphant" is to set the underdog Fool against a bigger, more powerful, and often "establishment" bad guy. (Page 44)
The reason I've dubbed these stories Institutionalized is that the group dynamic these tales tell is often crazy and even self-destructive. (Page 46)
When we put on a uniform, be it the uniform of the Army or a comfortable cotton shirt with a little polo player over the pocket, we give up who we are to a certain extent. (Page 46)
Often movies of the Institutionalized category will be told from the point of view of a newcomer. He is us—a virgin who is new to this group and who is being brought into it by someone who is more experienced. (Page 46)
Ultimately, all the stories in this category come down to a question: Who's crazier, me or them? (Page 46)
SUPERHERO The "Superhero" genre is the exact opposite of Dude with a Problem and can best be defined by its opposite definition: An extraordinary person finds himself in an ordinary world. (Page 47)
Ultimately, all superhero tales are about being "different," a feeling with which even we Lilliputians can identify. Born into a world he did not create, the Superhero must deal with those who are jealous of his unique point of view and superior mind. And from time to time we all feel this way. (Page 47)
The problem of how to have sympathy for the likes of millionaire Bruce Wayne or genius Russell Crowe, is solved by stressing the pain that goes hand-in-hand with having these advantages. (Page 48)
The creation myth that begins each Superhero franchise stresses sympathy for the Superhero's plight. Once established, filmmakers forget to re-create that sympathy and draw us into the human side of the Superhero again. (Page 48)
When it seems like you're stealing—don't. When it feels like a cliche—give it a twist. When you think it's familiar—it probably is, so you've got to find a new way. (Page 49)
True originality can't begin until you know what you're breaking away from. (Page 49)
If you're looking for the exceptions to the rules, you're missing the point of this chapter, which is to use categorizing as a storytelling tool. You must know movies. But you can't know them all. (Page 50)
The point is to be well-versed in the language, rhythm, and goals of the genre you're trying to move forward. If you know what genre you're in, learn its rules and find what's essential; you'll write a better and more satisfying movie. (Page 50)
To not know the roots of the story you're trying to create, either from the last IOO years of movie storytelling or the last thousand, is to not honor the traditions and fundamental goals of your job. (Page 51)
The "who" is our way in. We, the audience, zero in on and project onto the "who" whether it's an epic motion picture or a commercial for Tide detergent. The "who" gives us someone to identify with—and that someone doesn't even have to be human. (Page 52)
it's easier to communicate an idea when someone is standing there experiencing it for us. (Page 53)
As screenwriters with a great idea for a movie, the job of creating heroes that will lure an audience into our world is unique. (Page 53)
So let's add a few things to our list of what the "perfect" logline must include to be truly compelling: > An adjective to describe the hero > An adjective to describe the bad guy, and... > A compelling goal we identify with as human beings (Page 53)
WHO IS THIS ABOUT? Every movie, even ensemble pieces like Pulp Fiction "starring" John Travolta or Crimes and Misdemeanors "starring" Woody Allen, has to have a lead character. It has to be about someone. It has to have one or two main people we can focus our attention on, identify with, and want to root for—and someone who can carry the movie's theme. (Page 53)
I think the "who" has to serve the "what is it?"—not the other way around. (Page 54)
The point is that amping up a great logline with the hero who makes the idea work best is how the idea comes to life. And let's be clear, the trick is to create heroes who: > Offer the most conflict in that situation > Have the longest way to go emotionally and... > Are the most demographically pleasing! (Page 57)
THE PRIMAL URGE As stressed throughout this book, let me just say again: Primal, primal, primal! Once you've got the hero, the motivation for the hero to succeed must be a basic one. (Page 59)
And yes, this is all about your hero. Give him stakes. Real stakes. Primal stakes. Stakes that are basic, that we understand. Make the hero want something real and simple: survival, hunger, sex, protection of loved ones, fear of death. (Page 60)
Don't cast the movie before you've sold the script! > Don't write parts for certain actors! > Don't get married to the idea of one particular actor doing the part—you'll always be disappointed. (Page 61)
The point is to leave yourself plenty of room for casting. Your leads should be able to be played by many actors and actresses. And they should all be able to "open" the movie. (Page 61)
The reason is that these archetypes exist to satisfy our inner need to see these shadow creations in our brains played out onscreen. It's the Jungian archetypes these actors represent that we're interested in seeing. And if you always remember to write for the archetype, and not the star, the casting will take care of itself. (Page 62)
There's the "young man on the rise" archetype—a very American character that includes Harold Lloyd, Steve Martin (in his day), Adam Sandler, and the omni-versal Ashton Kutcher. Horatio Alger-esque, a little dumb, but plucky, this is the type we all want to see win. > There's the "good girl tempted" archetype—pure of heart, cute as a bug: Betty Grable, Doris Day, Meg Ryan (in her day), Reese Witherspoon. This is the female counterpart of the young man on the rise. > There's the "imp," the "clever and resourceful child"—Jackie Coogan, MacCauly Culkin, and even their evil opposite, the "Bad Seed," i.e., Patty McCormick. > There's the "sex goddess" archetype—Mae West to Marilyn Monroe to Bridget Bardot to Halle Berry. > And the male version, "the hunk"—From Rudolph Valentino to Clark Gable, from Robert Redford to Tom Cruise to Viggo Mortenson to Mr. and Mrs. Diesel's pride and joy, Vin. And the list goes on. There's the "wounded soldier going back for a last redemptive mission" archetype: Paul Newman, and now Glint Eastwood. There's the "troubled sexpot" archetype: Veronica Lake, Angelina Jolie. And the lovable fop: Cary Grant, Hugh Grant. There's the court jester: Danny Kaye, Woody Allen, Rob Schneider. There's the wise grandfather: Alec Guinness and now—same beard, same robe—Ian McKellen. (Page 62)
You don't have to be Joseph Campbell to see that no matter who's hot in Casting Call, the archetypes never change. (Page 63)
Your job, your simple task, is to forget the stars, concentrate on the archetypes, and strive to make them new. (Page 64)
Your way in to a biography has to pay attention to the same rules of any story: It has to be, first and foremost, about a guy who... we can root for. (Page 65)
In ensemble, like any story, the "hero" is usually the one who carries the theme of the movie. (Page 66)
The rule of thumb in all these cases is to stick to the basics no matter what. Tell me a story about a guy who... > I can identify with. > I can learn from. > I have compelling reason to follow. > I believe deserves to win and... > Has stakes that are primal and ring true for me. (Page 67)
The logline is your story's code, its DNA, the one constant that has to be true. (Page 67)
If you are true to your logline, you will deliver the best possible story. And if you find yourself straying from it in the middle of the writing process, you better have a good reason. (Page 67)
The logline tells the hero's story: Who he is, who he's up against, and what's at stake. (Page 67)
By examining who your hero is and what his primal goal is, as well as the bad guy who is trying to stop him from achieving that goal, you can better identify and expand on the needs of your story. The logline with the most conflict, the most sharply defined hero and bad guy, and the clearest, most primal goal is the winner. (Page 68)
The perfect hero is the one who offers the most conflict in the situation, has the longest emotional journey, and has a primal goal we can all root for. (Page 68)
There is no greater thrill when I am working on a newly born movie idea than the battle cry: "Let's beat it out!" It means it's time to put all those great scenes and ideas and characters "up on The Board" and see what goes where, which character does what, and whether you need every scene you've imagined... or have to invent all new ones. (Page 70)
STRUCTURE. STRUCTURE, STRUCTURE... After coming up with the idea, and identifying the "who" in your movie—and who it's for—the structure is the single most important element in writing and selling a screenplay. (Page 71)
The craftsmanship it takes, the patient work, the magic of storytelling on film, all come together in how yon execute and realize structure. It is a skill you must know. (Page 71)
From what I'd seen in movies, read about in screenplay books, and found myself relying on, I developed the Blake Snyder Beat Sheet. I wrote out 15 beats and managed to squeeze them all in on a one-page document on which the fifteen islands would fit—flush left. It looks like this: THE BLAKE SNYDER BEAT SHEET PROJECT TITLE: GENRE: DATE: 1. Opening Image (1): 2. Theme Stated (5): 3. Set-up (1-10): 4. Catalyst (12): 5. Debate (12-25): 6. Break into Two (25) 7. B Story (30): 8. Fun and Games (30-55): 9. Midpoint (55): 10. Bad Guys Close In (55-75): 11. All Is Lost (75): 12. Dark Night of the Soul (75-85): 13. Break into Three (85): 14. Finale (85-110): 15. Final Image (no): Isn't this pure? And easy? I use this simple one-page blank form whenever I have a pitch meeting. I won't let myself go into that meeting until I've filled in every space—and there aren't that many spaces. You can only write one, maybe two sentences explaining what each beat is, and that's perfect. Like the one-line description of the movie as a whole, I learned that if I can't fill in the blank in one or two sentences—I don't have the beat yet! I am just guessing. I am treading water, about to drown. Yet it isn't until I work on the form, and try to fill in those blank spaces, that I even know I have a problem! The numbers in parentheses are the page numbers where the beats take place. A script in terms of page count should be about as long as a good jockey weighs: 110. Though some dramas run longer, the proportions are the same. (Page 72)
Note: Tussen haakjes zijn aantal pagina’s
The very first impression of what a movie is—its tone, its mood, the type and scope of the film—are all found in the opening image. (Page 74)
The opening image is also an opportunity to give us the starting point of the hero. It gives us a moment to see a "before" snapshot of the guy or gal or group of people we are about to follow on this adventure we're all going to take. Presumably, if the screenwriter has done his job, there will also be an "after" snapshot to show how things have changed. Like many of the beats on the BS2, the opening image has a matching beat: the final image. These are bookends. And because a good screenplay is about change, these two scenes are a way to make clear how that change takes place in your movie. The opening and final images should be opposites, a plus and a minus, showing change so dramatic it documents the emotional upheaval that the movie represents. (Page 74)
THEME STATED (5) Somewhere in the first five minutes of a well-structured screenplay , someone (usually not the main character) will pose a question or make a statement (usually to the main character) that is the theme of the movie. (Page 75)
It won't be this obvious, it will be conversational, an offhand remark that the main character doesn't quite get at the moment—but which will have far-reaching and meaningful impact later. This statement is the movie's thematic premise. (Page 75)
The first 10 pages of the script, or first dozen pages at most, is called the "set-up." If you're like me, and like most readers in Hollywood, this is the make-or-break section where you have to grab me or risk losing my interest. (Page 77)
The first IO pages is also where we start to plant every character tic, exhibit every behavior that needs to be addressed later on, and show how and why the hero will need to change in order to win. (Page 77)
And when there's something that our hero wants or is lacking, this is the place to stick the Six Things That Need Fixing. This is my phrase, six is an arbitrary number, that stands for the laundry list you must show—repeat SHOW—the audience of what is missing in the hero's life. Like little time bombs, these Six Things That Need Fixing, these character tics and flaws, will be exploded later in the script, turned on their heads and cured. They will become running gags and call-backs. (Page 77)
And those call-backs only work because we have seen them in the set-up. (Page 78)
Note: Gebruik relations of hyperlinks om deze callbacks op voorhand alvast te koppelen en vast te leggen in de structuur
One last word on the set-up as it relates to Act One. I like to think of movies as divided into three separate worlds. Most people call these three acts, I call em thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. The first IO pages and the rest of Act One is the movie's thesis; it's where we see the world as it is before the adventure starts. It is a full-fledged documentation of the hero's world labeled "before." There is a calm before the storm in this world, and especially in the set-up. If events that follow did not occur, it would pretty much stay this way. But there is a sense in the set-up that a storm's about to hit, because for things to stay as they are... is death. Things must change. (Page 78)
I frankly love the catalyst moment, and I really miss it when I don't see it done, or done well. Have to have it. Like my pet peeve—the lack of decent Save the Cat scenes in hip, slick movies—this is another one that bugs me when it's not there. I like the catalyst moment because—it's life. Those moments happen to all of us. And life-changing events often come disguised as bad news. Like many of the beats in the BS2, the catalyst is not what it seems. It's the opposite of good news, and yet, by the time the adventure is over, it's what leads the hero to happiness. (Page 79)
Note: Refusal of the call
The catalyst point is the first moment when something happens! (Page 79)
DEBATE (12-25) This is a section of the script, between pages 12 and 25, that used to really baffle me. When the telegram comes on page 12 informing me that my sister is being held by pirates, I know what I have to do! So why do I, the writer, have to vamp to the Act Break until my hero does what he's supposed to? The debate section is just that—a debate. It's the last chance for the hero to say: This is crazy. And we need him or her to realize that. Should I go? Dare I go? Sure, it's dangerous out there, but what's my choice? Stay here? (Page 79)
Your moment of truth may not be so clear-cut, but it's important to remember that the debate section must ask a question of some kind. (Page 80)
BREAK INTO TWO (25) It happens on page 25-1 have been in many arguments. Why not page 28? What's wrong with 30? Don't. Please. In a IIO page screenplay, it happens no later than 25. Page 25 is the place where I always go to first in a screenplay someone has handed me (we all have our reading quirks) to see "what happens on 25." I want to know 1) if anything happens and 2) if this screenwriter knows that something should happen. And I mean something big. (Page 80)
As discussed above, the act break is the moment where we leave the old world, the thesis statement, behind and proceed into a world that is the upside down version of that, its antithesis. But because these two worlds are so distinct, the act of actually stepping into Act Two must be definite. (Page 81)
The hero cannot be lured, tricked, or drift into Act Two. The hero must make the decision himself. (Page 81)
B STORY (30) The B story begins on page 30. And the B story of most screenplays is "the love story." It is also the story that carries the theme of the movie. I also think that the start of the B story, what takes place around page 30, is a little booster rocket that helps smooth over the shockingly obvious A story act break. (Page 81)
The B story gives us a breather. (Page 81)
Let's go slightly off theme here and meet someone new. (Page 82)
The B story is also very often a brand new bunch of characters. We have not always met the B story players in the first IO pages of the screenplay. We did not even know they existed. But since Act Two is the antithesis, they are the upside down versions of those characters who inhabit the world of Act One. (Page 82)
FUN AND GAMES (30-55) The fun and games section is that part of the screenplay that, I like to say, provides: The promise of the premise. It is the core and essence of the movie's poster. It is where most of the trailer moments of a movie are found. And it's where we aren't as concerned with the forward progress of the story—the stakes won't be raised until the midpoint—as we are concerned with having "fun." The fun and games section answers the question: Why did I come to see this movie? What about this premise, this poster, this movie idea, is cool? (Page 82)
The fun and games in Die Hard show Bruce Willis first outwitting the terrorists. The fun and games in Phone Booth occur when Colin Farrell realizes the seriousness of his predicament. We take a break from the stakes of the story and see what the idea is about; we see the promise of the premise and need not see anything else. (Page 83)
MIDPOINT (55) There are two halves in a movie script and the midpoint on page 55 is the threshold between them. We can talk about the importance of the two act breaks, but to me the midpoint is as important, especially in the early going of laying out a script's beats. (Page 84)
Note: Training
You will hear the phrase "the stakes are raised at the midpoint" in a lot of script meetings. Because they are. It's the point where the fun and games are over. (Page 86)
But it's a false victory because the hero has a ways to go before he learns the lesson he really needs. It just seems like everything's great. (Page 86)
The midpoint has a matching beat in the BS? on Page 75 called "All Is Lost," which is described as "false defeat." These two points are a set. It's because the two beats are the inverse of each other. (Page 86)
The midpoint is either false victory or false defeat, and the All Is Lost is the opposite of it. (Page 86)
BAD GUYS CLOSE IN (55-75) The section of script from page 55 to page 75, the midpoint to the All Is Lost, is the toughest part of the screenplay. (There's a hard bit of truth for you!) It never fails to be the most challenging for me, and there's no method to get through it other than to just to muscle your way. This is where your skills as a bullhead come in handy! The term "Bad Guys Close In" applies to the situation the hero finds himself in at midpoint. All seems fine, but even though the bad guys—be they people, a phenomenon, or a thing—are temporarily defeated, and the hero's team seems to be in perfect sync, we're not done yet. This is the point where the bad guys decide to regroup and send in the heavy artillery. It's the point where internal dissent, doubt, and jealousy begin to disintegrate the hero's team. (Page 86)
That is a classic example of what should happen in the Bad Guys Close In section of any script. The forces that are aligned against the hero, internal and external, tighten their grip. Evil is not giving up, and there is nowhere for the hero to go for help. He is on his own and must endure. He is headed for a huge fall, and that brings us to... (Page 88)
Note: Evil is not giving up
ALL IS LOST (75) As addressed above, the All Is Lost point occurs on page 75 of agood, well-structured screenplay. We know it is the opposite of the midpoint in terms of an "up" or a "down. " It's also the point of the script most often labeled "false defeat," for even though all looks black, it's just temporary. But it seems like a total defeat. All aspects of the hero's life are in shambles. Wreckage abounds. No hope. (Page 88)
But here's my little trade secret that I put into every All Is Lost moment just for added spice, and it's something that many hit movies have. I call it the whiff of death. I started to notice how many great movies use the All Is Lost point to kill someone. Obi Wan in Star Wars is the best example—what will Luke do now?? All Is Lost is the place where mentors go to die, presumably so their students can discover "they had it in them all along." The mentor's death clears the way to prove that. But what if you don't have an Obi Wan character? What if death isn't anywhere near your story? Doesn't matter. At the All Is Lost moment, stick in something, anything that involves a death. It works every time. Whether it's integral to the story or just something symbolic, hint at something dead here. It could be anything. A flower in a flower pot. A goldfish. News that a beloved aunt has passed away. It's all the same. The reason is that the All Is Lost beat is the "Christ on the cross" moment. It's where the old world, the old character, the old way of thinking dies. (Page 88)
Note: Old wat y of thinking dies
DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL (75-85) So now you're in the middle of a death moment at the All Is Lost point, but how does your character experiencing this moment feel about it? This question is answered in a section of the screenplay I call Dark Night of the Soul. It can last five seconds or five minutes. But it's in there. And it's vital. It's the point, as the name suggests, that is the darkness right before the dawn. (Page 90)
I don't know why we have to see this moment, but we do. It's the "Oh Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?" beat. I think it works because, once again, it's primal. (Page 90)
BREAK INTO THREE (85) ... Hazzah! The solution! Thanks to the characters found in the B story (the love story), thanks to all the conversations discussing theme in the B story, and thanks to the hero's last best effort to discover a solution to beat the bad guys who've been closing in and winning in the A story, lo! the answer is found!! (Page 91)
Both in the external story (the A story) and the internal story (the B story), which now meet and intertwine, the hero has prevailed, passed every test, and dug deep to find the solution. Now all he has to do is apply it. (Page 91)
The classic fusion of A and B is the hero getting the clue from "the girl" that makes him realize how to solve both—beating the bad guys and winning the heart of his beloved. (Page 91)
The finale is Act Three. This is where we wrap it up. It's where the lessons learned are applied. It's where the character tics are mastered. It's where A story and B story end in triumph for our hero. It's the turning over of the old world and a creation of a new world order—all thanks to the hero, who leads the way based on what he experienced in the upside-down, antithetical world of Act Two. (Page 91)
The finale entails the dispatching of all the bad guys, in ascending order. Lieutenants and henchman die first, then the boss. The chief source of "the problem"—a person or thing—must be dispatched completely for the new world order to exist. (Page 91)
The finale is where a new society is born. It's not enough for the hero to triumph, he must change the world. The finale is where it happens. And it must be done in an emotionally satisfying way. (Page 92)
FINAL IMAGE (110) As stated earlier, the final image in a movie is the opposite of the opening image. It is your proof that change has occurred and that it's real. (Page 92)
Catalyst: A classic call to adventure. (Page 94)
The whiff of death is the death of her identity. (Page 96)
Although you can write anything you want on these index cards, they are primarily used to denote scenes. By the time we're done, you'll have 40 of these—count em, 40—and no more. (Page 103)
What goes on your final 40 is very simple. Each card stands for a scene, so where does the scene take place? (Page 103)
Each card should also include the basic action of the scene told in simple declarative sentences. (Page 103)
In any storytelling venture, the most burning ideas you have for scenes are what must be laid out first. These are scenes you're sure are going to go into your movie. (Page 104)
It may wind up in another place or may be cut out, but damn it feels good to get those scenes off your chest. Yup. They're up there, all right. And look at what you have. What you have is a whole lot of blank space. (Page 104)
I always try to figure out the major turns first. (Page 105)
With the midpoint nailed, the All Is Lost is not too hard to figure out. It's the flip of the midpoint. (Page 105)
I give myself three or four cards for the first IO pages, that's three or four scenes to get me to the catalyst. But a lot of times what I'll see spread out there are seven or eight cards with things like "the hero is a wrongly accused felon" next to "the hero is a saxophone player." Well, these are not scenes, this is backstory. And these cards will eventually be folded into one card labeled "Meet the Hero" during an actual scene in which he walks into a room and we see him for the first time. (Page 106)
You've got nine to IO cards per row that you need to fill. And you have to figure it out. (Page 107)
The funny part about laying out these cards is: In the early going, you almost always have a light Act Three. It's usually two cards. One labeled "the Hero figures out what to do now" and the other labeled "the Showdown." (Page 108)
In fact, the more you think about tying up all the loose ends, the C, D, and E stories, recurring images, themes, etc., the more you realize all the screenplay bookkeeping that has to be accounted for in Act Three. (Page 108)
Screenplays are structure. Precisely made Swiss clocks of emotion. (Page 109)
It's a lot easier to see and move cards around on a board than chunks of your own writage that you've fallen in love with. It's a lot harder to kill your darlings by then. By organizing first, the writing is more enjoyable. (Page 109)
STRIPPING IT DOWN Forty cards. That's all I'm going to give you for your finished board. That's roughly IO cards per row. So if you've got 50 or if you've got 2O, you've got problems. (Page 109)
Set-up is a biggie for me. I have 20 cards sometimes in the first row. I think there is so much to say, so much I'm not getting across that I overcompensate. But then I look at how these beats can be cut out or folded into others. If I'm honest, if I really admit that I can live without some things, it starts to cut down. I get it down to nine cards. And that's perfect. (Page 109)
I will also have a lot of sequences. Like chases or action set pieces that stray all over the place. This is easy to fix. Simply write CHASE on this section, no matter how many scenes, and consider it one beat. (Page 110)
+/-AND > < Now that you have your 40 cards up on The Board and you're pretty sure this is how your story goes, you think you're done, but you're not. Here are two really important things you must put on each card and answer to your satisfaction before you can begin writing your screenplay: One is the symbol +/-. The other is the symbol > . These two symbols should be written in a color pen you have not used and put at the bottom of each card like this: The +/-sign represents the emotional change you must execute in each scene. (Page 110)
Think of each scene as a mini-movie. It must have a beginning, middle, and an end. And it must also have something happen that causes the emotional tone to change drastically either from + to—or from—to + just like the opening and final images of a movie. (Page 111)
Tags: roze
Believe it or not, an emotional change like this must occur in every scene. (Page 111)
Tags: roze
Until you figure out the emotional change for each of the 40 cards using this simple +/-code, don't start. (Page 111)
The other symbol, > , denotes conflict. To understand what the conflict is, I always like to think of a scene like this: As the lights come up, two people walk into a room from opposite doors, meet in the middle, and begin to struggle past each other to reach the door on the other side. They each enter the scene with a goal and standing in their way is an obstacle. That's conflict. And whether it's physical or verbal or simply a guy who really needs to pee and must get to a bathroom soon or else!, that conflict must be foremost on your mind when you conceive each scene. (Page 112)
When each scene opens, you must know what the main conflict of that scene is and who is bucking against whom. Each person, or entity, has an agenda. What is it? And ho-, does it collide with the person or entity he or she must get past? (Page 112)
Only one conflict per scene, please. One is plenty. And whether it's a large issue or a small one, something physical or something psychological, it must be there. Every scene. Every time. If you can't find a conflict, figure out a way to create one. (Page 112)
At its core, every scene in your movie must be as basic as this in order to get and keep the viewer's attention. (Page 113)
Note: Just before
By the time you're done, you should have nine cards in row #1, nine in row #2, nine in row #3 and nine in row #4—wait! That's only 36 cards. Well, I'm giving you four extra for those scenes I know you can't live without. Stick these wherever you like—we don't have to be that precise. But 40 is all that you get... or need. (Page 113)
If your Board is too perfect, or if you spend too much time trying to make it so, then you have left the world of preparation and entered the Procrastination Zone. Well, don't. In fact, I always like to start writing when I'm coming up on the end of finishing The Board, just before it gets too perfect. (Page 113)
To me, always, speed is the key. I want to figure this all out so I can get to the writing. And once I have my 40 beats laid out and my +/-and > done on each card, I know I've done as much as humanly possible to prepare. (Page 113)
The work on The Board is important. But it's a trick I play on myself, an exercise in storing moments, rhythms, scenes, and scene sequences in my brain. It allows me to play with these elements without commitment to any of them. I must always be willing to throw it all away as I begin the writing process. (Page 114)
What The Board will do for you is prepare the battlefield, allow you to test your theories, grind in certain notions, and minimize others. (Page 114)
Truth is when you write FADE IN: The Board means nothing. But I hope the things I've tried to get across to you will still be burning in your brain and will stick with you. These are: the necessity of hitting your act break on page 25, hitting the midpoint and All Is Lost hard, and the need to have conflict in every scene. (Page 114)
The blessing of having this handy guide up on the wall of your work room is: If you do get lost, if you can't figure out what happens next, you can always go back to The Board and get back on track. The worst thing that can happen in screenwriting is to not finish. (Page 114)
We who write screenplays want to see you win, and win big time, and we know exactly what you're going through down there and want you not to worry. (Page 117)
To review, Save the Cat is the screenwriting rule that says: "The hero has to do something when we meet him so that we like him and want him to win." (Page 119)
The adjunct to Save the Cat says: "A screenwriter must be mindful of getting the audience 'in sync' with the plight of the hero from the very start." (Page 119)
The Immutable Laws of Screenplay Physics tell us that when you have a semi-bad guy as your hero—just make his antagonist worse!! (Page 120)
THE POPE IN THE POOL The Pope in the Pool is more of a trick than a rule, but it's a fun one that I love to talk about and one that I see done onscreen all the time. It is also one of the first insights passed on to me by Mike Cheda, script master. Your problem is: How to bury the exposition? Exposition is backstory or details of the plot that must be told to the audience in order for them to understand what happens next. But who wants to waste time on this? It's boring. It's a scene killer. It's the worst part of any complicated plot. (Page 122)
I propose to you that, for some reason, audiences will only accept one piece of magic per movie. It's The Law. You cannot see aliens from outer space land in a UFO and then be bitten by a Vampire and now be both aliens and undead. That, my friends, is Double Mumbo Jumbo. (Page 124)
In both Along Came Polly and Minority Report, the laying of all that pipe—a necessary thing to set up the story—risks our attention and, I believe, contributes to a lesser movie-going experience. By needing so much backstory to set up the movie, the whole story has been torqued out of shape. (Page 128)
Get to it!! (Page 129)
Note: Maak tabel met percentages beats in formule voor berekenee aantal woorden
But it makes a great rule of screenwriting and creativity: Simple is better. One concept at a time, please. You cannot digest too much information or pile on more to make it better. If you do, you get confused. If you do... stop. (Page 131)
Danger must he present danger. Stakes must be stakes for people we care about. And what might happen to them must be shown from the get-go so we know the consequences of the imminent threat. If not, you are violating the Watch Out for That Glacier rule. (Page 132)
THE COVENANT OF THE ARC The Covenant of the Arc is the screenwriting law that says: Every single character in your movie must change in the course of your story. The only characters who don't change are the bad guys. But the hero and his friends change a lot. And it's true. (Page 133)
I think the reason that characters must change in the course of a movie is because if your story is worth telling, it must be vitally important to everyone involved. (Page 133)
In a sense, stories are about change. And the measuring stick that tells us who succeeds and who doesn't is seen in the ability to change. Good guys are those who willingly accept change and see it as a positive force. (Page 134)
To succeed in life is to be able to transform. That's why it's the basis not only of good storytelling but also the world's best-known religions. (Page 134)
"Everybody arcs." That's one of the slogans I have written on a yellow Post-it note and have stuck to the top of my iMac computer whenever I am writing a screenplay. (Page 134)
Spielberg discovered that it blew the reality of the premise to invite the press in. By keeping it contained among the family and on the block, by essentially keeping this secret between them and us, the audience, the magic stayed real. (Page 136)
A common mistake in a lot of rough drafts is the problem of the inactive hero. (Page 140)
Here's a checklist to see if your lead needs more oomph: 1. Is your hero's goal clearly stated in the set-up? Is what your hero wants obvious to you and to the audience? If not, or if you don't know what your hero's goal is, figure it out. And make sure that goal is spoken aloud and restated in action and words throughout the story. 2. Do clues of what to do next just come to your hero or does he seek them out? If it all happens too easily for your hero, something's wrong. Your hero cannot be handed his destiny, he must work for it at every step. 3. Is your hero active or passive? If the latter, you have a problem. Everything your hero does has to spring from his burning desire and his deeply held need to achieve his goal. If he can't be bothered, or can get to that burning desire manana, you've got Hamlet—fine if you're Shakespeare, bad if you're writing for Vin Diesel. 4. Do other characters tell your hero what to do or does he tell them? Here's a great rule of thumb: A hero never asks questions! The hero knows and others around him look to him for answers, not the other way around. If you see a lot of question marks in your hero's dialogue, there's a problem. The hero knows; he never asks. (Page 141)
You've forgotten that your characters don't serve you, they serve themselves. They should walk into each scene with their own goals and say what's on their minds, not yours. (Page 142)
Good dialogue tells us more about what's going on in its subtext than on its surface. Subtle is better. And talking the plot is like using a sledgehammer. It's overkill. (Page 142)
Movies are stories told in pictures. So why would you resort to telling us when you can show us? It's so much more economical! You (Page 142)
By showing and not telling, you leave room for your characters to be at their best—that's being active, with their own separate agendas for being there, not yours. (Page 143)
Note: BAM!
As in Life, character is revealed by action taken, not by words spoken. (Page 143)
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So when you feel yourself drifting into talking the plot, don't. And when you think you're talking too much: Show, don't tell. (Page 143)
Maybe you need to make the bad guy... badder! This is a common first-draft problem. I think it's because we want our hero to win so badly that we don't want to make it impossible for him to do so. But we cannot protect our hero from danger and challenge; we must throw a little more at him than he is able to take. (Page 143)
In many a well-told movie, the hero and the bad guy are very often two halves of the same person struggling for supremacy, and for that reason are almost equal in power and ability. (Page 144)
Aren't the hero and the bad guy of each of these movies the light and dark sides of the same person? Aren't they the positive and negative x-ray of one soul? And each has something the other wants—even if it's just an answer to what makes them the way they are. (Page 144)
The point is that the hero and the bad guy are a matched set and should be of equal skill and strength, with the bad guy being just slightly more powerful than the hero because he is willing to go to any lengths to win. After all, the bad guy has given up on having "family values" by definition. This does not mean you make the bad guy impossible to beat—just a challenge that looks impossible. (Page 144)
The basis of the "Turn, Turn, Turn" rule is: The plot doesn't just move ahead, it spins and intensifies as it goes. It is the difference between velocity (a constant speed) and acceleration (an increasing speed). And the rule is: It's not enough for the plot to go forward, it must go forward faster, and with more complexity, to the climax. (Page 145)
It's kinetic eye candy with no forward motion. It's a CHASE! with no stakes. They go here, they go there, but I don't give a damn and don't know why I'm watching. It proves the point that you can have lots of action and still not have a story. It moves forward, but there's no Turn, Turn, Turn. More must be revealed along every step of the plot about your characters and what all this action means. To that end, you, the writer of this plot, must show how it affects your characters as you go along. You must show flaws, reveal treacheries, doubts, and fears of the heroes—and threats to them. You must expose hidden powers, untapped resources, and dark motivations for the bad guys that the hero doesn't know about. Show facets of that spinning diamond of plot, let the reflected light amaze the audience. The diamond cannot merely move across the screen, it must Turn, Turn, Turn in order to truly dazzle us. Show us all of it. Let the light play off its many sides; let's see some of that detail! (Page 145)
If you don't feel your plot intensifying as you make the midpoint turn and start heading for the finish, you have problems. (Page 146)
Flat dialogue is the kind that anyone can say. And odds are that if your script is full of lines that are right out of real life, that ring true but ring dull, you're not working hard enough to make the characters come to life. (Page 148)
I was stunned. Damn it, he was right. I couldn't tell one of my characters from the others, and then and there I figured out something else too: All the characters had MY voice!! In a good script, every character must speak differently. Every character must have a unique way of saying even the most mundane "Hi How are you I'm fine" kind of chat. (Page 149)
We couldn't see that what we needed to do was take our hero back as far as possible, so that the story would be about his growth. (Page 150)
A lot of us know where our heroes end up and don't want to put them through the torment of growth, so we avoid the pain for them. And just like raising a child, you can't do that. These characters have to grow by getting bumped on the nose, and whether we like it or not, we have to let them. (Page 150)
This is just one more example of how movies must show the audience everything: all the change, all the growth, all the action of a hero's journey. By taking it all back as far as possible, by drawing the bow back to its very quivering end point, the flight of the arrow is its strongest, longest, and best. The Take a Step Back rule double-checks this. (Page 151)
Everything's great except for one small problem: There seem to be too many minor characters. It's hard to tell one from another. Readers will confuse that guy with this other guy. And it bugs you! Isn't it obvious?! What has happened is that you have not given us a hook to hang our hats on for each of the characters that are vital to your story. (Page 151)
Every character has to have a unique way of speaking, but also something memorable that will stick him in the reader's mind. The reader has to have a visual clue, often a running visual reminder, which makes remembering a character easier. (Page 151)
At the root of anyone's goal in a movie must be something that basic, even if on its surface it seems to be about something else. By making what drives your characters more primal, you'll not only ground everything that happens in principles that connect in a visceral way, you also make it easier to sell your story all over the world. (Page 153)
You may think your story is about something more "sophisticated" than this; it's not. At its core it must be about something that resonates at a caveman level. (Page 154)
Ask yourself these questions, the "Is It Broken?" Test: 1. Does my hero lead the action? Is he proactive at every stage of the game and fired up by a desire or a goal? 2. Do my characters "talk the plot"? Am I saying things a novelist would say through my characters instead of letting it be seen in the action of my screenplay? 3. Is the bad guy bad enough? Does he offer my hero the right kind of challenge? Do they both belong in this movie? 4. Does my plot move faster and grow more intense after the midpoint? Is more revealed about the hero and the bad guy as we come in to the Act Three finale? 5. Is my script one-note emotionally? Is it all drama? All comedy? All sadness? All frustration? Does it feel like it needs, but does not offer, emotion breaks? 6. Is my dialogue flat? After doing the Bad Dialogue Test does it seem like everyone talks the same? Can I tell one character from another just by how he or she speaks? 7. Do my minor characters stand out from each other, and are they easy to differentiate by how they look in the mind's eye? Is each unique in speech, look, and manner? 8. Does the hero's journey start as far back as it can go? Am I seeing the entire length of the emotional growth of the hero in this story? 9. Is it primal? Are my characters, at their core, reaching out for a primal desire—to be loved, to survive, to protect family, to exact revenge? (Page 154)
You only get the one shot at a first impression. Try to get over the love affair you have with yourself and your work (God knows I've been in love with my own a thousand times!!) and do what needs to be done. This is what separates the pros from the wannabes—that nagging voice that says: "It sucks!" And the mature, adult, professional voice that quickly chimes in: "And I know how to fix it!" (Page 155)
I've also been faced with terrible self-doubt and self-recrimination. You get bumped in this business, and want to throw in the towel from time to time. But if it's in your blood, like it's in mine, you learn to persevere. And you get as much education from failure as success. If you keep trying and stay focused, you can have any prize in the firmament. All you have to do is keep working at it, have a great attitude, and know that today just might be "the day. " (Page 172)