Why This is Good

It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t good. And if you’re like me, you’re trying to put your finger on exactly why it wasn’t good. Bruce Willis is always a treat in any movie, the premise was intriguing and offered limitless possibilities for satire and social commentary. It had the potential to satisfy our seemingly insatiable appetite for doomsday future dramas in which the machines we built to help us end up being our downfall (I don’t know about you but movies and TV have convinced me that the future ultimately leads to computers killing or enslaving us all-Terminator, The Matrix, Battlestar Gallactica, I Robot, Blade Runner). And it wasn’t a bad movie, it just wasn’t very good.

What was good:

The makeup. There was something creepy about how perfectly smooth the surrogate skin was. All of the surrogates look like they’ve got Oprah’s best makeup and lighting crew following them wherever they go. Plus all of the actors-including the myriad of gorgeous extras-walked, talked and looked just a little off, their eyes seemed a little dead, their faces apathetic, unmoving, their motions as smooth and mechanical as their skin. It was also fun to see juxtaposition of the perfect surrogate and the “operators” all of whom were dull, flabby, pale, blotchy-skinned greasy-haired older shadows of their idealized surrogate selves. I don’t know how the makeup artists were able to make the actors look more made up and perfect than they normally do in regular movies, but they did a great job.

The special effects. There were some great moments of faces being torn off to reveal the robots beneath. The movie was glossy, fun, and the effects were flawless. Coordinating as many extras as they did to all simultaneously fall down dead on the street must have been difficult, and I’m also impressed that the casting directors were able to round up so many ridiculously good looking people to work as extras to populate the surrogate world of physical perfection. Why aren’t all of them already actors and/or models?

Bruce Willis. You gotta hand it to the guy, he is good at playing the wounded, good guy out for truth and justice. He has so much charisma that you can’t help but watch him in any scene, and he was the only one who was more attractive than his surrogate counterpart.

What wasn’t good:

The death of the son. While I’m a firm believer in a character having a wound or past trauma, in this case, it felt very contrived and phony, as if the writer imposed this past upon the story. It didn’t fit his character  but seemed like it was tacked on, so that he could share common ground with his nemesis, whose son is also killed. The fact that his son died seemed to have little to do with the story, the theme, or the way in which Bruce ultimately overcame the bad guy in the end. In order for a wound to work to build a character arc and allow the theme to be fully realized, it needs to be something intrinsic to what the character needs to do in order to save the day in the end. Clarice had to overcome her self-doubt and fear that she wouldn’t be able to save the senator’s daughter, just like she wasn’t able to save the lambs. Shrek had to learn to be open to love and let people into his heart after being rejected so many times in his past. But having a dead son had nothing to do with Bruce Willis saving the world.

The nemesis. James Cromwell plays Canter,  the inventor of the surrogate technology. His original intentions to help the paralyzed has gone horribly, superficially wrong, and now he feels the only solution is to kill everyone. His dastardly plans are not based in any logic, and wouldn’t benefit him at all, or provide him with the satisfaction of revenge. Since the simple solution Bruce offers in the end is much more logical, practical, and less evil, it begs the question as to why Canter didn’t do the same thing.

The car chases. Too many, too cheesy and too overdone. Car chases have their place in action and caper movies, but there are so many more exciting, interesting things the writers could have done with this weird future world-like the chase through the freight-car jungle of the Dread Reservation, it’s disappointing that they fell back on such an overused convention.

The premise. The idea is fascinating, and makes you think about our current society and how close we’re getting to this type of reality. With the abundance of plastic surgery, the obsession with youth and beauty, and the increasingly isolated, computer based lives we are leading, the idea that someday no one would leave their house doesn’t sound too far off. But they didn’t use this premise to explore these parallels, nor did it even seem that bad. Crime and disease have gone down 99% in the surrogate-based future, everyone is happy, safe and perfect. What difference does it make if you aren’t real if everyone around you isn’t either? Other than the feeling that it just isn’t right, the story does not explore the dark side of what this lifestyle does to a person, or what it means to be human and live an authentic life. It’s such a great premise, it could have been done very well, but it just fell short of making you think about and dread the possibilities it explored.

Just as I suspected, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs has maintained its popularity since it debuted.

Read the Variety article here.

Popularity is often, though certainly not always, a good measure of how well a story is told. Movies are meant to speak to us, to say something about the human condition, and life, in a way that we can all relate to. That is why it is important to get your audience to identify with your hero, so that they will relate to him or her and go through the journey together with the hero. A popular film, gauged by box office success, is one the speaks to the largest number of people, meaning it successfully utilized the elements of storytelling in a way that allowed viewers to simultaneously experience emotion while going through the hero’s journey. An unsuccessful film often fails to build empathy with the hero, or lacks a theme or a universal truth about life that everyone can relate to and accept as true, whether or not they have personally been through the experience the hero has been through.

Conflict should not be something you create and impose upon your story. I would never tell a writer to sprinkle in some conflict here, or add more drama there. Conflict is not just people fighting, arguing, or disagreeing. Conflict is not characters being moody or dissatisfied with their lives. In a properly structured, well-written screenplay, conflict arises naturally when the hero, pursuing a goal, faces opposition, in the form of a person, a circumstance or a situation. When conflict is created this way, it is believable as it is organic to the very nature of the story. Conflict is an essential part of the story. If your hero has a goal, and if there is something in the way of him achieving it, conflict arises.

In stories devoid of conflict, there is either a lack of a concrete goal, a lack of obstacles, or both. The hero doesn’t know what they want, and is just meandering through the story, letting things happen. If the hero wants nothing, pursues nothing, and thereby does nothing, then conflict cannot exist. If your hero does not know what they want but is instead swept along by the tide of other people telling him or her what to do where to go and who to be, then they are not going to run into any opposition or conflict. If the hero wants nothing, than there is nothing in the way of him achieving this.

If the hero encounters no opposition, then no conflict can exist. Even if you have a compelling goal and a hero pursuing it, you will not have conflict if you do not have obstacles and opposition. A conflict laden story can be created out of a hero trying to do something as simple as delivering a letter, if there are obstacles and circumstances that make accomplishing this task nearly impossible. On the other hand, a story could be completely dull and lack conflict even if the hero’s goal is monumental.

A story about a hero whose goal is to fly to the moon can have less conflict than the story about delivering the letter. If our wannabe astronaut is instantly accepted into the flight program at NASA, passes all the tests and immediately gets put on a mission to the moon and has a smooth ride there where everything goes as planned, the story will have absolutely no conflict, even though the goal was there and seemed impossible to achieve. If the hero trying to deliver the letter can’t find a nearby post office because he lives in a rural area that doesn’t get regular mail pick up, so he locates one miles away and drives there, but his truck breaks down on the way, and when he hitches a ride he leaves the letter in the car, and then by the time he finds the car and the letter and makes his way back to the post office to find that it is closed for the day, his story will have much more conflict than our astronaut because he encountered obstacles that created conflict.

The moral of the story is that goal + obstacles = conflict. Take away a goal or obstacles and you are left with a neutral, boring flat story.

After going over the ways to make a character likable, I want to point out that your characters can and should be flawed. Every hero in a film needs to have experienced some trauma in their past that has caused them to react to the world in an unhealthy way. The experience that they will go through during their story-whether it is meeting the love of their life, accomplishing a career or personal goal, or changing the world-will heal this wound, teach them that they have to live life in a healthy way again in order to be fulfilled by accomplishing their goals.

We know from Storytelling 101 that a well-written script involves a protagonist with a goal who tries to accomplish this goal but faces opposition, which he or she eventually overcomes. Opposition comes in two forms-external and internal. The hero cannot accomplish their goal because the antagonist, circumstances, or forces of nature are preventing them from getting what they want. For example, in Shrek, Shrek cannot be with Fiona because she is betrothed to Lord Farquaad. This is the external opposition. But Shrek is also wrestling with his own internal obstacle. He lacks the confidence he needs to admit his feelings, and he has been hurt and rejected in his past for looking different, so much so that he has shut down and decided it’s better to be alone than to open up and face possible rejection. He is forced to overcome both obstacles before he can accomplish his goal, and finally be himself and live a full life.

In crafting your characters, delve into their past and determine what happened to them that made them the flawed, incomplete person they are today? This is usually something that happened in their childhood and deeply affected them. Write out that scene, in prose form, so you can fully explore their life before you put them into your screenplay. This event will most likely not be a part of your script, but it can and may come out in dialogue. Whatever it was, it has created in them a fear of doing the one thing that they will be forced to do in the climax of your story. Overcoming this fear is the only way they can accomplish their goal and achieve true happiness and an authentic life.

Stories are conceived in many different ways. Some writers start from a single word, idea, or line. Some use a dream as a jumping off point, others use prompts, current events, or real life stories as a basis of their ideas.

In conceptualizing a screenplay, ask yourself what and who your story is about. If you come up with the plot or premise first, you then have to figure out what this concept will require your hero to do. You will then create a character whose past is causing them to be fearful of doing the one thing they will have to do in order to achieve their goal. By building a character around your plot, you create a multidimensional realistic person whose struggle directly relates to the plot and whose arc will create and reinforce the theme of the film.

The theme is revealed when the character, in Act 2, recognizes, confronts, and overcomes their inner conflict. In Shawshank Redemption, the plot involves a man accused of murder who goes to prison, and touches the lives of the other prisoners before escaping and finding redemption.
The theme-hope never dies, did not come from the plot, it came from the character and the changes that he went through. The plot helped facilitate this arc and emphasize this theme by showing a character going through the events of the story.

Other stories are conceptualized based on the character. Some are biographies, or sometimes you have created this great, intriguing character and need to come up with something for him or her to do. Just like a plot-based film, character based ideas need a theme and a plot in order to effectively reveal your theme through the character’s arc.

No matter how fascinating your character is, you need a plot and a story to wrap around this character. Clarice didn’t just sit around talking to Hannibal about how messed up he was, she was trying to solve a mystery and discover how a killer’s mind worked in order to accomplish a concrete goal. This gave the story a plot and her character an arc while still revolving around an interesting character.

Your screenplay should force your hero to face their greatest fear, thus proving your theme. Your character, wounded in their past, has a fear that is preventing them from doing the one thing that will make them happy and allow them to be themselves and live to their full potential. The film shows the audience that your theme is true by showing a character who proves that it is true.

If you’re a fellow child of the 80’s or younger, you were no doubt reminded of the fun children’s book of the same name as this new movie. But this movie has greatly improved upon what was just a cute, simple children’s book based on a funny and innovative premise. The movie is hilarious and uses many of the screenwriting principles I’ve been discussing. It’s a great example of how much poetic license you can and must take when adapting a book into a movie. Most books, even the ones more complicated than a children’s picture book, don’t translate easily into good films.

What stood out most to me about what made this film good was how intensely visual it was. Of course, it’s yet another computer animated wonder that takes advantage of the stunning images you can create using this awesome new medium. And since it’s also playing in 3D, there are plenty of gags and stunts intended to take advantage of this unique tool. But even if this had been a live action film, the visuals would have been impressive, and you can learn a lot about how to tell a story visually by watching this film. It’s not based on dialogue and discussion, but, as all films should, relies primarily on images and action to tell the story.  And while I don’t want to give away all of the fun details, I will say this movie features a ghetto blaster made of Jell-O. What more could you want?

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs is also dynamic. Every scene involves change and moves the story forward. It features an active hero with a goal that he pursues until the very end. The writers employ the techniques I discussed here to make us like the hero and relate to him from the very beginning. As the story progresses, they continually challenge the hero, making things more and more difficult, forcing him to work hard for every accomplishment, and most importantly, it is always the hero who is in charge, forced to save the day, and rely on his intellect and wit. No one helps him and nothing comes easy. This is an adorable, well done film that adults and kids will enjoy. I highly recommend you go see it, and pay attention to all of the elements discussed above, think about how you can use them in your own screenplay, even if your story doesn’t involve a monkey battling live gummy bears to the death.

Movies are dynamic. They’re not called stillies. The first films were silent, and some say it is the true test of the quality of a film if the story can be understood without dialogue.

Of course, it would be silly to take this to mean that a film can exist in the 21^st century lacking dialogue, but there is wisdom in this rule, and that is to keep in mind that films are in constant motion. Plays are dialogue based. Novels can use flowery language and long-winded descriptions, stopping for pages and pages to delve into a character’s history, or explore her innermost thoughts and feelings. Screenwriters don’t have this luxury. We are writing something that is not meant to be read, but instead is meant to be turned into something inherently dynamic, a motion picture. Every scene should move the story forward, expand on the character development, and represent a change. There should be no neutral scenes in your screenplay. If a scene begins positive, it should end negatively. If a scene begins on a negative, it should end either positively or even more negatively. Things can and usually do go from bad to worse, and occasionally (usually just before something really bad happens) things go from bad to good. But, unlike in real life, in a screenplay, a scene should never go from good, to extremely good. That’s boring, unrealistic, and does nothing to move the story forward.

Review your script, and ask yourself what purpose each scene served. If nothing changes as a result of the scene, eliminate it. Pointless filler bores the reader and causes audiences to lose interest in your story. As discussed in the last post, even seemingly unimportant details may come into play later, or be purposefully inserted to force the viewer’s attention in another direction. If backstory needs to be revealed, do so while the characters are in the midst of something much more exciting, do not create an entire scene devoted to revealing some piece of personal history. Move the story forward with each word you write, and never forget that you are writing a motion picture.

There’s an old writing rule attributed to Chekhov: “If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise, don’t put it there.”

This deals with foreshadowing, and the fact that all details, however small, are significant and should be integral parts of the story. This device is an essential part of good mystery writing, but also comes into play in other genres. In Dirty Dancing, Baby and Penny stoop down to help old Mrs. Schumacher when her purse spills, and several wallets fall out. Later on, when Johnny is accused of stealing a guest’s wallet, Baby recalls that Mrs. Schumacher had several in her purse, and in the end she and her husband are uncovered as pickpockets.

In Transformers, Sam is going to sell some seemingly worthless old glasses that belonged to his grandfather, when it turns out they hold the key to the location of the Allspark, the cause of the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons.

Other notable examples are the necklace in What Lies Beneath that eventually leads Claire to uncover the mystery of her husband’s involvement in his lover’s murder, or the rock hammer and Rita Hayworth poster in The Shawshank Redemption.

The main difference between a Chekhov’s Gun element and a MacGuffin is that the Chekhov’s Gun seems insignificant at first, and we later learn that it is very important, whereas a MacGuffin or Red Herring seems incredibly important, but we later learn that it is not.

A  MacGuffin is a person, incident or object that motivates the other characters. It is the thing everyone is searching for or talking about-the stolen jewelry, the mysterious contents of a case in Pulp Fiction and Ronin, the money Janet Leigh’s character steals in Psycho, Jack Sparrow’s compass in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest. The real story, however, lies in what the MacGuffin motivates the characters to do, it doesn’t matter, in the end, what the MacGuffin is.

Unlike MacGuffins, Red Herrings are meant to distract the audience and lead them in the wrong direction, diverting attention to the incorrect conclusion in a mystery or a crime drama. They are a sleight of hand that distracts from the real story, the right solution to the crime or a problem. The army of the Twelve Monkeys in Twelve Monkeys is a good example, as is Severus Snape in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Many critics feel that red herrings are overused and are becoming cliched attempts to impose plot twists on poorly written stories, but Red Herrings remain a necessary element of telling a story.

Creating sympathy for your hero is an essential part of successful screenwriting. This is something many writers overlook in their quest to create a great flawed hero who can go through an arc. But in order for the audience to enjoy the movie, they need to empathize with the character-relate to them, understand them and care about watching them take the two hour journey that will be the movie.

The same things that make you like or dislike a person in real life will make your audience like or dislike your hero. There are some specific devices you can utilize to make your audience empathize with your hero. It’s important that you employ one of these techniques within the first ten pages, or your reader will lose interest in your hero, and therefore your film. And luckily, some of these can still work if your hero has to start out flawed in order for your story to work.

Undeserved Misfortune-the key here is undeserved. Something bad that isn’t their fault. If they are running late for work because they stopped to help a little old lady with a flat tire, and they get fired. If it is their fault, it’s not undeserved misfortune. If they are running late for work because they stopped to get a coffee because they had a horrible hangover from partying too hard the night before and they get fired. That is their fault and therefore not sympathetic. In Fight Club, Edward Norton’s apartment explodes. In no way is this his fault, so we feel sorry for him.

They are in jeopardy-we care about people we are worried about, and will want to continue watching to make sure they are going to be okay. Jamal in Slumdog Millionaire, Harry Potter in all of his movies, Frodo and the other hobbits in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. We know something bad is going to happen to them, so we are compelled to not only care about them, but to watch and see if they will be okay.

Liked by others-showing that people are liked by others by showing them around their friends, often at a birthday part, especially a surprise party, or showing that they are popular at work or school. Oskar Schindler in Schindler’s List is shown at a party, schmoozing up a storm, he’s the toast of the town. Because others like him, we feel we can like him too. He must be a good guy.

Kind to animals- Obscure but true. Characters who are kind to animals are perceived as heroic, likeable characters. If they are kind to other less fortunate creatures that also will make them likeable. A lot of movies show the hero giving money to a charity, a homeless person, or volunteering. We all know that is the right thing to do and therefore we instantly like those we see doing this and will want to keep watching them.

Good at what they do- Most people wish they had more power, and therefore admire people with power. James Bond movies use this exclusively to make you like James Bond. He has tons of power and he is good at what he does. Often times this is one of the first things you see in the beginning of a movie, the hero at work, making deals, helping people, making money, finding the bad guy, etc. Show that they are good at what they do and they have power, and we will like them. This is a great technique to use when your character is kind of a jerk and is going to learn something during the course of the film.

In As Good as it Gets, Jack Nicholson’s character Melvin is almost entirely unlikeable, save for the fact that he is good at what he does.

In Collateral, Jamie Foxx wasn’t just a cab driver, but he was the best cab driver ever. He was meticulous about keeping the cab clean, and he knew the best routes and had a very good sense of how long it took to get everywhere. We respected him also because he embodied the next trait.

They have grand aspirations-He was a cab driver, but he dreamed of owning his own business. In Jerry Maguire, Jerry noticed the problems in the world and dreamed of bringing some integrity back to his corrupt business. We like this.

See the problems in the world/want to fix it- your hero will be likeable if he sees the problems in the world and wants to fix them. In Jerry Maguire, Jerry embodies three of these qualities-he is good at what he does, he sees problems and wants to fix them, and he has a big dream. As discussed in yesterday’s post, Baby in Dirty Dancing can’t wait to join the Peace Corps and make the world a better place. She goes out of her way to help Penny and help others.

Funny-Everyone would like to be funny, and everyone likes to be around funny people. Giving your hero a sense of humor makes them seem down to earth, easy to get along with, and just downright entertaining and fun to be around and watch. Juno, in Juno was instantly likeable because of her wit and humor. Even if it’s not a comedy, they can have a strong sense of wit and irony that makes them appear funny, and smarter than the average idiot, it makes them special. We like that.

Unselfish- Referring back to the undeserved misfortune example. Our hero that helped the old lady with the flat tire even though he knew it was going to make him late and get fired was acting unselfishly. Showing your character is unselfish is a great way to make the audience like them. Will Smith’s character in Seven Pounds gives up time, money, and his own organs in order to help others.

As a tribute to the great Patrick Swayze, I thought my first film analysis should be on the classic that he helped make so popular. Dirty Dancing won an Academy Award and a Golden Globe for Best Original Song, and was nominated for other Golden Globes. Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey had undeniable chemistry that helped launch the film to the success it was and has continued to be for the past 22 years. But what made this film good besides the sexy dancing, the steamy romance, and the great music? What can screenwriters learn from this film and how the script made it good?

Baby Houseman is introduced via voiceover, driving to the Kellerman resort with her family. It’s clear from the short car ride that Baby is an intellectual, idealistic Daddy’s girl, contrasted with her sister Lisa, who is prissy and conceited.  While Baby is instantly likeable, she has a lot of room to grow, she’s immature, shown both by her idealism and the very odd nickname she lets everyone call her. What normal 17 year olds would put up with being called Baby?

But we still like her, not only is she smart, she is sweet and caring, and doesn’t look down on people or think she’s better than them because her family has money. While the rest of her family stands around admiring the resort, Baby goes to help the valet unload their luggage.

The next scene shows Baby in a dance class led by vivacious Penny. She’s out of place among the middle aged and up vacationers, and worse than that, is out of step and can’t get into the rhythm. We further identify with her for being out of place, not fitting in, and being embarrassed.

Baby goes to investigate the main house and overhears Mr. Kellerman telling his “college boys” that they are to flirt with and take out the daughters of the guests. Just then Patrick Swayze, as  Johnny Castle, swaggers in with the entertainment crew, who Mr. Kellerman warns to stay away from the guests.

After a dull dinner, Baby is stuck dancing with Neil, Mr. Kelerman’s snobby grandson, the self-proclaimed “catch of the county.” He’s dull and irritating, baby is bored out of her mind until  Johnny enters, dancing with Penny-they’re amazing and Baby is mesmerized-this is the at 10%, and is the start of Baby’s adventure.

Bored, Baby wanders off to the staff headquarters, where she bumps into Johnny’s cousin, Billy juggling huge watermelons up a long staircase. She offers to help and he takes her to the raucous staff dance party, where everyone is dancing dirtily. Johnny and Penny dance with intensity, but Billy assures Baby they’re not dating. When Johnny asks what Baby is doing there, she offers up a lame “I carried a watermelon” and then dies of embarrassment at how stupid she sounded in front of sexy Johnny. Again her awkwardness makes us like her, feel sorry for, but also relate to her. We’ve all said dumb things in front of someone we liked.

Johnny pulls her onto the dance floor and they dance together, intense chemistry ignites Baby’s rhythm and she is left wanting more.

The next day Baby finds Penny sobbing, she gets Johnny and Billy to help.  At 25% we learn that Penny is knocked up by “college boy” waiter Robbie Gould, who is also pursuing Baby’s sister Lisa. Penny can’t afford the $250 abortion, Baby begs Robbie to do something and when he refuses, she throws water in his face and tells him off and gets the money from her dad. Penny tells Baby she can’t get the abortion anyway because she and Johnny are slated to perform a mambo at a neighboring resort. Baby volunteers to be Johnny’s partner so Penny can get her little problem taken care of. This is the start of Act 2, where Baby will learn to dance, and to love. She will stop being a Baby and start living as an adult.

A montage shows Baby growing into a great dancer, and chemistry building between the two. Their performance is okay, Baby makes a few mistakes and can’t do the lift they practiced.

At 50% Penny is in trouble and in pain, the doctor was a hack and hurt her. Baby gets her dad who saves Penny, mistakenly pegging Johnny as the father “who got his partner in trouble and sent her off to some butcher, while he moved on to an innocent young girl.”

Dr. Houseman warns Baby that she should have nothing to do with those people. Baby goes to see Johnny the next day and apologizes for the way her dad treated him.

Baby and Johnny spend more and more time together, growing more and more in love. But Baby still hides Johnny from her father. This shows that she has not completed her character arc yet, as she is still a child, more worried about what her father thinks than what she wants and who she really is.

At 75%, Mr. Kellerman is convinced that Johnny is responsible for a missing wallet, and is about to fire him, when Baby speaks up, Johnny couldn’t have stolen the wallet, she was with him all night. Baby has finally become a mature adult here, caring more about her love and doing what is right than her father’s approval. She has chosen Johnny and true love over family. Later it’s discovered that an older couple is responsible for the stolen wallets, as Baby suspected, but Johnny is still fired.

At the talent show, Dr. Houseman finds out that Robbie is the one who knocked up Penny. As everyone dies of boredom watching the lame talent show, Johnny enters, utters those famous words: “Nobody puts Baby in a corner” and sweeps Baby off her feet and into a fabulous dance routine. She finally does the lift, representing her growth into a woman, and her embracing her new life and love. She is comfortable being herself now that Johnny has awakened her to living a life with passion and love.  Their energetic dance gets the whole camp off their feet and dancing. Dr. Houseman apologizes to Johnny and they all dance off happily ever after.